Confrontations
by orangesunset12
Summary: "Don't tell me you didn't hate me, at least a little bit." Dick looked at him. "I can honestly say I've never hated you, little wing." Jason's fists clenched. His blue eyes shone like moonlight. "Before Tim was my Replacement, I was yours," he snapped. "You can't say, then, that you've never hated me."
1. I'm A Goner

To Jason, it was simple.

One moment he was dead. The next, he was alive.

Of course, there had been the panic, the fear, the anger, but all that came later. Even the disappointment waited until he was out of his grave.

Dead. Alive.

Simple.

But, apparently, not everyone saw it this way.

There were questions of what they should have done, would have done, could have done, and why they weren't done. Things that happened between Before and After. Things that Jason was never part of, yet still had a hand in. Things that didn't matter to him, not one bit.

Except for the Replacement. That, at least, had to matter to him.

But Jason didn't care how much his death had hurt Bruce, or Dick, or even Alfred. All that mattered was that he was the one that had hurt the most, so he had the right to be angry, guns and all. And he was fully prepared to use that privilege.

Yet here he was, after everything, still falling for the same traps.

It had been a started a standard night. Drug traffickers, human traffickers, the lot. Then, of course, came the one on top. The one who mattered.

This time it was a man calling himself The Bowler- based on his ugly hat. Seriously, Jason was restraining the urge to throw up.

Red Hood was prepared- he was a Bat, no matter how much he hated that fact. He held his guns with steady hands, hands that had seen more than their fair share of blood, a lot of it his own. A shot to the shoulder, then to the leg, then to the hat. Maybe one to the head, but Big Bat was too close to his area tonight.

Jason didn't want to see the disappointment in his face. Not again.

He should've known, though, that Batman would avoid him. Bruce didn't want to see his face either. It hurt, sort of. But he was just too relieved that he wouldn't have to be reminded of everything again.

It was just his luck that someone even worse than Batman came along.

"Nice shot, Red," Nightwing smirked.

He had leaped down from the rooftop above. Jason wondered how long he had been there- had he been waiting for the kill? Or something else?

"Better shot than you'll ever be," Red Hood replied. Okay. That was unfair. It's not like he's ever wanted to hold a gun before.

Nightwing stood across from him and crossed his arms, his ever-annoying grin still in place. Jason noticed he had grown out his hair, and wondered how he managed to get so many women if he looked like a jungle animal. Probably with that smile.

"You didn't kill him," he noticed. Stated. Flatly. Like it was normal.

But he had to say it out loud, and that gave it away.

"Heard Batman was nearing my territory," Red Hood instinctively scowled. "If you see him, tell him I'll shoot his balls off if he comes even a meter closer to here."

Nightwing laughed, because he knew it was a hollow threat. Sort of.

If Jason had to shoot him anywhere, it would be straight through the heart. Twice.

"And what will you do to me?" The older man cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Depends on what you want."

Now Dick's smile waned a bit. It fluttered like dying wings, like when someone forgets to take the clothes in and it just stands outside, like its been abandoned. A bit of a weird comparison, but whatever- he wasn't an expert poet.

He was an expert at being abandoned, though. That had to count for something.

He waited for Nightwing to speak. The silence grew, until-

"I want you to come home, Jay."

There are two types of hurt- the hurt you deserve, and the hurt you don't. Jason had much more than his share of hurt, and mostly all of that was for crimes he had yet to commit. Maybe that's why Red Hood was made; not made, stolen. To catch up to that hurt. So that he could tell himself he did deserve it, that life wasn't hopeless, that people had a chance. He had to make himself deserve all the hurt he got. It felt better, somehow.

But there are also two types of hope- hope someone gave to you, and hope that you have yourself. He had used up the latter until it was dry, and in the place of hope seeded anger. A lot of it, for all the hope he used to have. Because people who were content, who were satisfied, never needed hope. Not as much as he did. But somehow, though he had given up on himself, Dick hadn't. Kept giving him hope, a reason to survive. Something he had been trying to get rid of for ages.

That was why he got angry. Because hope and hurt were too familiar now, too close. He had to push it all far, far away.

"No names on the field," Jason said flatly.

Nightwing searched his helmeted face. "That's not an answer."

"It wasn't a question, was it? It's never a question. Never a choice. There's always someone demanding something of me, something I can't give! I can't go home, Nightwing! You know that!"

"Jason-"

"You think you can come up here, and ask me to come home, and that was all I needed?"

He looked down. Scuffed his foot across the rough concrete. "That was all I ever needed..."

Red Hood closed his eyes for a second. Of course. Or course that had been all he needed. They were different people, in different situations. Dick had left Bruce, left on purpose, and it didn't matter how much Bruce had hurt him, because that had been Dick's choice. He could have come back.

But Jason had died. Had been pulled away, without a decision. And that made all the difference.

That, and that Bruce had actually loved Dick.

"...That was you. This is me, Di- Nightwing. This is me, and we both know I'm beyond saving."

That was when Nightwing looked up. Red Hood had never seen that look on his face, that look of pure anger. Of shock.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Nightwing was shaking his head, walking up to him. Jason backed away, out of habit. "I'm not giving up on you, you know that? Nobody is beyond saving-"

"I am. Everyone hates me, Dick! Don't even deny it!" Jason took a breath. "Don't tell me you didn't hate me, at least a little bit."

Dick looked at him. "I can honestly say I've never hated you, little wing."

Jason's fists clenched. Relaxed. Unlike what people thought, he wasn't impulsive. It's just, thinking things through, often the impulsive decision is the one with the most blood.

"Before Tim was my Replacement, I was yours," he snapped. "You can't say, then, that you've never hated me."

Nightwing's mouth opened. Closed. Set in a straight line, then opened again. "That's not the same, though, is it? Do you really hate Tim?"

"Of course I hate him. What kind of question is that?"

"Jason, you are many things, but you're not a liar."

Jason closed his eyes again. "I guess... I guess it's not the same as hating. But it's not like I like him, either. There's nothing... There's nothing that feels like being replaced."

It was true. The closest thing to that feeling was dying.

Nightwing smiled. "I know. I think I know that more than you ever have. But, I've never hated you. Bruce has never hated you, and neither has Tim. Not even Damian." He took a breath. "I've never really had the chance to say this, but-"

That was when something buzzed. His communicator. Again, Jason was pushed to second place.

Dick grimaced apologetically, but turned to leave. Paused. Turned around again.

"I missed you, Jason," he said softly. "I miss you."

It wasn't like that changed anything. Jason still felt angry, maybe even angrier.

But, when it comes down to it-

"Dick... I miss you too," Jason whispered.

With that, he left.

 **Hope you guys enjoyed! The next chapter will probably be the same thing, but from Dick's point of view. Please review with your honest opinions!**


	2. Somebody Catch My Breath

To Dick, it was simple.

Jason had died. And then he was alive.

Of course, there had been the panic, the fear, the anger, but that was all over now.

He was alive.

That was enough.

But, apparently, not everyone saw it that way.

Jason hadn't seen it that way. He had been angry, and with the anger came the loneliness. Bruce hadn't seen it that way. He had been lonely, and with the loneliness came the anger.

It's funny how alike they were. How much they couldn't see, how much they didn't notice. How much they were hurting each other. How much they loved each other anyway.

Somehow, somehow life had driven a rift between them bigger than death ever had. Dick knew all about rifts. He had dug one between him and Bruce before Jason ever put on the costume. He had alienated Tim, without even realising it, until it was too late. And Jason... Well. Jason.

That was why he was here, wasn't it? To make sure he wasn't too late.

There's nothing worse than too late.

It was a clear night, running across rooftops. Pausing when he heard shots below. Nightwing always felt slightly nervous when venturing into Hood territory- sometimes it felt like he was watching him, judging him, hating him in the shadows. He shook his head. Jason wasn't like that, was never like that. He would say anything to anyone's face.

He peered over the edge, watching him fight. Violent and aggressive, but efficient.

And bloody. But that was to be expected.

He shifted in position, waiting. For what? Maybe for the kill. But maybe for something else. A sign. A sign that Jason, no matter what he said, wasn't all gone.

A couple of shots rang out. Nightwing looked down, saw Jason tying up the criminal, who was battered and bloody. But he was still breathing.

Still breathing. Like Jason was. Still breathing.

He flipped down from the roof and landed securely on the ground. Jason didn't seem to notice him yet, as he tried to rip apart what looked to be a bowler hat. Nightwing wasn't sure how'd he react to his presence. Jason was unpredictable, yet the same, after everything. After everything.

"Nice shot, Red," Nightwing blurted out. He instinctively grinned. Smiling was a form of protection, he found, that was much more effective than passivity- smiling was a way of saying everything was okay.

Everything was okay, Jason. Everything was waiting for you. Still waiting for you.

Red Hood looked up. Dick was slightly disturbed by his helmet, as he always was. His mask barely covered anything. Red Hood's covered everything.

Jason scoffed. "Better shot than you'll ever be."

Okay. That was fair. It's not like he'd ever held a gun before.

Red Hood stood across from him, slouching to one side. He was taller than when Dick had last seen him, lankier, bigger too. All muscle, though, not fat. A huge difference, but when had he last seen him, anyway?

How long had it really been?

"You didn't kill him," Dick stated. Smiled. To show him it was okay.

But he had to say it out loud, and that gave it away.

Red Hood looked away slightly. "Heard Batman was nearing my territory. If you see him, tell him I'll shoot his balls off if he comes even a meter closer to here."

Dick laughed. Winced, inside. He knew Red Hood wouldn't do that, if worst came to worst. No. He'd do something much worse.

Yet, still, Jason was worth it.

"And what will you do to me?" He asked. It was a genuine question. Not expecting a genuine response, but still. Honesty came in the most unexpected of places, from the most unexpected of people.

Red Hood shrugged. "I don't know. Depends on what you want."

What he wanted. What he wanted? It was just what he always wanted.

Closure. Wasn't, wasn't that what Jason wanted too?

"I want you to come home, Jay."

Sometimes, when it rained in Bludhaven, Dick would spend some time just standing out in the pavement. Feel the rain slide off his skin, down to his shoes, onto the ground. Listen to the little splat it gave. Smile.

Just to remind him, just to remember that even things people hated, things people thought were bad, were still beautiful. You just had to look at it at the right angle.

Bruce had taught him that, actually. When he was young and afraid of the dark. Bruce had taught him that people hate things they don't understand. That people don't understand a lot of things.

So Dick made sure. Dick made sure that he understood, that he understood everything, so he wouldn't have to hate. Hating was easy; hating was too easy. Everyone hated everything, everyday.

He hated that.

Trying to understand Jason was hard, much harder than hating him. But he couldn't give up.

As long as he had a home to return to, Dick would make sure that Jason returned there. And that he stayed.

"No names on the field," Red Hood snapped.

Dick shook his head. "That's not an answer."

"It wasn't a question, was it? It's never a question. Never a choice. There's always someone demanding something of me, something I can't give! I can't go home, Nightwing! You know that!"

"Jason-"

"You think you can come up here, and ask me to come home, and that was all I needed?"

Dick paused. Stared at Red Hood for some time. Scuffed his foot against the rough concrete. "That was all I ever needed..."

And it was. All he had ever needed was for someone to tell him, to tell him it was alright to return, that he hadn't screwed up that badly.

Dick had left Bruce. Dick had left, on purpose, and that was why it had hurt more. Bruce had forced his hand, left him no options. He hadn't had a choice. He couldn't have returned, not there, not when he had left like that.

But Jason had died. He couldn't, wasn't blamed for that. He got a second chance to come back, and he could have used it. He had the choice. And that made all the difference.

That, and that Bruce had actually remembered Jason.

Red Hood stared. "...That was you. This is me, Di- Nightwing. This is me, and we both know I'm beyond saving."

Beyond saving. That couldn't be what he thought, could it? No. Dick would just have to show him, then. Show him that he was worth everything, every attempt, every question, every person who ever tried to love him.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Nightwing shook his head, walking up to him. Jason backed away. "I'm not giving up on you, you know that? Nobody is beyond saving-"

"I am. Everyone hates me, Dick! Don't even deny it!" Jason took a breath. "Don't tell me you didn't hate me, at least a little bit."

Dick looked at him. "I can honestly say I've never hated you, little wing."

"Before Tim was my Replacement, I was yours," he snapped. "You can't say, then, that you've never hated me."

Replacement. He, out of all of them, had been replaced the most. One by one by one. And yet...

"That's not the same, though, is it? Do you really hate Tim?"

"Of course I hate him. What kind of question is that?"

"Jason, you are many things, but you're not a liar."

Jason closed his eyes again. "I guess... I guess it's not the same as hating. But it's not like I like him, either. There's nothing... There's nothing that feels like being replaced."

It was true, what Jason said. The closest thing to that feeling was being alone.

Nightwing smiled. Relaxed. "I know. I think I know that more than you ever have. But, I've never hated you. Bruce has never hated you, and neither has Tim. Not even Damian." He took a breath, and steadied himself. Jason needed to hear this. "I've never really had the chance to say this, but-"

That was when something buzzed. His communicator. Dick cringed on the inside. No. Bruce's voice filtered in through the com, saying something urgent. For the first time in his entire life, Dick wished that Bruce wouldn't talk to him. He turned around. Paused. This needed to be said. Jason needed to know.

"I missed you, Jason," he said softly. "I miss you."

And he had. In lonely nights, in empty days, he had missed him. Even when Jason had come back to life. Dick had missed him.

Missed him. Almost missed what he said next, too.

"Dick... I miss you too."

Dick spun around quickly, but he was too late.

...Not yet.

If he had heard correctly, there was still time after all.

And time was all he needed.

 **Please review!**


	3. I Want To Be Known

Jason hadn't meant to. Really.

It's just that this was his second life, and he wasn't ready to give it up, not just yet. Even if it meant having to do stupid. Very stupid.

So there he was on the ground, bleeding. Not that he's never bled before- it just usually wasn't this bad. The thug had hit an artery, which was causing his leg to look a lot like that time he spiked the fountain with red Kool-Aid.

Why had he done that again? Probably something to do with him being mad at Bruce, like he almost always, even before.

So. He was bleeding. Dying.

And, as he said, this was his second life. He wasn't going to waste it.

Problem was, he was in one of the thousands of abandoned alleyways in Gotham. The chances of any Bat finding him were close to zero. Ah, well, maybe he'd be abandoned a second time. It couldn't hurt any more than the first.

But. The phone. The phone was in his hand, ready to be used. He was either going to die, or ask for help.

He really didn't know which was worse.

He scrolled through his contacts. Some people were, instantly, crossed off. Bruce. Tim. Barbara (why did he even have her number?). He'd never live it down with Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, and as for The Oracle...

Everytime he saw her, there was laughter. Pain. She was always, always a reminder. Of what Joker had done.

Of what he was still doing.

Bruce let him do all of that. Bruce let him live.

How much more of his family did it take, until he would do the right thing?

Jason scrolled down more, one hand clamped on his leg, the other on his phone. Okay. That sounded really weird.

There was only one person he really trusted there, anyway. After last week's little conversation, Jason hadn't stopped thinking about what he had said.

Dick had missed him. Someone had actually, truly missed him.

He hit call. Closed his eyes.

Let the darkness take over, like it always has.

* * *

Dick hadn't meant to. Really.

It's just that, sometimes, things were more important than his life. Even if those things were stupid. Very stupid.

So there he was on the ground, bleeding. Not that he's never bled before- this injury wasn't too serious, nothing he hadn't had before. Okay, it might have been bleeding more than he would've liked. A lot more than he would've liked. But that couldn't be helped, could it?

He knew he should go to the Cave, but... But Bruce was there. He couldn't, wouldn't let Bruce see him like this. He'd think he was unworthy.

Bruce always thought he was unworthy.

He was about to haul his butt back to his apartment and sort things out there, when his phone rang. Weird. Bruce wouldn't call with his phone (and did Bruce even still have his number?). He flipped open the phone.

Jason.

Huh.

"Red?" Nightwing asked, holding the phone to his ear.

"..."

"Red? Are you alright?"

Panic started to fill his voice. Jason wouldn't call for no reason, never, he always had a reason. Even if it wasn't a good one.

Nightwing started to trace the call. Tim had installed a tracking device onto his phone, to show directions to the caller.

Dick made a mental note to thank him, later. He was always saving their lives.

He hastily wrapped a piece of spare cloth around his arm. The cloth immediately soaked red, but he didn't care.

He had to get to Jason before history repeated itself.

Before darkness took over, like it always did.

* * *

Jason felt like death. Wait, no. Death felt like nothing, really.

Jason felt like life. Empty and pointless and full of pain.

Well. Maybe he really could have been a poet, in another life. A better life.

He opened his eyes to face a white, peeling ceiling. His head throbbed slightly, but he was still in Red Hood mode- he knew he wasn't in the Batcave, or his house. Yet he felt no imminent danger. It was somewhere familiar, then.

He shifted up, wincing when he felt a searing pain shoot through his leg. Hurt. Bloody. As usual.

But not alone, it seemed. A loud clang, followed by a string of swear words, made that clear.

Dickiebird. Of course.

He remembered, now. Golden Boy probably had brought him to his apartment. Jason recognised it as the temporary one Bruce had set up for him in Gotham, as opposed to the one in Bludhaven.

He was living here? That was why he had visited Red Hood, that last time. Strange, though. Usually Dick avoided Batman more than Jason did.

He looked to the right and saw the sprawling mess that was the floor. Replacement would probably have an OCD fit if he visited here.

Maybe he should trick him into coming. Watching Tim have a fit might be entertaining.

Or, maybe, he could invite both Tim and the Demon Spawn. Now that would be worth paying for.

Suddenly, humming started coming from what he assumed to be the kitchen. Oh god. Dick singing.

Maybe Jason should've died in that alleyway after all.

* * *

Dick dropped the pan with a loud clang. He cursed loudly, remembering when he had accidentally broken Bruce's mother's vase. About half the swear words he knew came from that little incident.

The other half came from Jason, unsurprisingly. Jason and Bruce did work so well together.

He picked up the pan. Cooking was not in his expertise range, despite many exasperated lessons from a stubborn Alfred. The most he could make was mac and cheese, which was what he was currently making- Jason's stomach had ingested poison before, right?

He picked the pan back up and placed it on the stove. Scratching his head, he went over the instructions again. He sighed. Dick was probably never going to get the hang of it.

Nevermind. Some small, small part of him was happy that Jason got injured. Jason had called him. Him.

He started to hum an old tune that Bruce used to sing, to get him to sleep. It reminded him of good dreams. Good times.

He decided to screw the cooking-from-scratch idea, and dialled the pizza company. Fancy meals with fancy cutlery had been the norm for most of his life, but fast food had always had Dick's heart. He remembered when Jason had just entered their lives. There were nights when he'd sneak into Wayne Manor, sneak back out with Jason, and go on fast food sprees.

Yeah. They didn't do that much anymore.

Dick tilted his head towards the living room.

Maybe, just maybe, things could change.

* * *

Jason immediately flopped back down as he heard Dick approach.

"I know you're awake," Dick said drily.

Jason sighed, and shifted upwards slowly. "Your singing nearly killed me. Cut me some slack."

"You shouldn't move too much," Dick said. Typical of him, going into mother-hen mode. Jason was too old to be soothed by it. Still. It was kind of a nice change from the usual death threats.

"I'll move however much I want to," he replied. He sat up properly, the sting in his leg refusing to go away, but he was used to pain.

There was silence for a while. Without Jason's anger, he really had nothing to say. Anger kept him going. Well, anger and hatred. But they were really just two versions of the same thing, weren't they?

"I ordered pizza," Nightwing blurted out. Well, not Nightwing, Dick. How long had it been since they'd seen each other without masks?

Jason looked at him, ice blue meeting sky blue. "Pizza?"

He smiled. "Don't worry, I didn't forget the garlic bread."

"For the last time, Dick, I do not actually like bread that much! Where did that come from?"

Dick laughed. He would never admit it, but Jason felt good, making Dick laugh. He hadn't made anyone laugh in a long time.

Laughter sounded nice. It sounded a hell of a lot better than screaming. Not that he didn't enjoy making people scream.

"I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with you breaking into a bread store?"

He rolled his eyes. "God, Dick, that was years ago. You'd think you would've let it go."

"...I'll let go if you let go," Dick smiled softly.

Let go. Right. Let go.

How come, no matter what the circumstances, it always came back to this?

There was nothing, nothing in this world harder than letting go.

"I think I'm fine, actually," he said flatly. "My leg's all better. I appreciate your effort and everything, but I think-"

"No!" Dick yelled. Then, quieter, "No. I mean- I mean... Stay. Please."

Jason stared blankly. That was unexpected. It wasn't an apology, not really.

No.

It was worth much more than that.

* * *

Dick cringed. He hadn't meant to yell. Hadn't meant to bring up the past, but he had done so anyway.

He had ruined it. What 'it' was, he didn't know. But 'it' had been nice.

And he had ruined it.

Jason stared at him, and Dick desperately tried to read his expression. Was he mad? Angry? Or worse, disappointed?

He swallowed. The silence seemed slightly suffocating. But this time, Dick couldn't break the silence. He'd just say something wrong again.

"I..." Jason started, slowly. "...When are you going to cut your hair?"

"What?" Dick blinked.

"Your hair. It's starting to look like a mullet."

Right. Dick forgot how Jason relieved tension by insulting people. Today, he was glad for it.

"At least it's better than yours," Dick smirked. "Did you happen to get your hair caught in a demolition derby, Jaybird?"

"Don't call me that, Dickiebird," he shot back.

Dick didn't remember the last time he'd had a normal conversation with someone. It was always business, danger, regret. Lots of regret, mostly.

Sometimes, like now, he liked to go back to Gotham, just to remember things. He'd stayed here longer than he intended, this time.

But Jason was worth it.

This conversation was worth it.

"Hey, how about I promise to cut my hair, and you actually shower for once?"

Jason quirked an eyebrow. "Just promise that you won't dye your hair that awful blonde you tried once."

"I thought you liked it!"

"Are you kidding me? I tried to kill you 3 times that week! I even got the Pretender to work with me on that one!"

Dick laughed again, and this time Jason joined in.

Yes. This felt nice.

Normal.

* * *

 **Finally figured out the line breaks! Hope it works! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you are really great people. Also a thank you to those who followed and favorited! Any contribution is as big as any other (now I sound like a mother!).**


	4. By You

Jason woke up to the smell of pancakes.

Pancakes. Huh.

Was this heaven? Well. Death caught up to him after all.

He opened his eyes, closing them again. when he saw the sun. He wasn't a morning person, as was to be expected. He stayed up all night kicking butt, but the mornings always had him floored.

Too many bad dreams to have a full night's sleep, even without his daily routine.

But today was different. Today, he smelled pancakes.

If this was death, maybe this time he would stay. Not that he thought he'd have the choice.

Pushing away all thoughts of heaven, he went on alert. The pancakes were nice, but that meant someone was in the house, cooking them. Probably once he shot their head off he'd eat those pancakes.

With as little movement as possible, he clutched the gun on his bedside table. Always kept one near him, in case. He'd had a lot of experience with bad people.

He was one himself, anyway. They always say it takes one to catch one.

He tilted his head to the source of the smell. His apartment was small and messy, but Jason took pride in it. He had a mental floor plan and noted that it came from the kitchen. Then he heard the voices.

"...He won't like this, you know," a familiar voice sounded.

Damn. The Replacement. What was he doing here?

"Oh come on, Timmy, he'll love it! Pancakes are his favorite, right?"

Dick. Oh, brother.

"Isn't bread his favorite food?"

"BREAD IS NOT MY FRICKING FAVORITE FOOD!" Jason yelled, angrily. First of all, they broke into his apartment. Second of all, they were using up his ingredients.

Third, and worst of all, they woke him up.

So yeah, he was angry. Very angry.

Still, he had to cover his mouth to stop himself from smiling.

* * *

Dick looked across the kitchen, to where Jason was sleeping. Well, he wasn't sleeping anymore.

Tim looked slightly nervous. Dick knew it was unfair dragging him out here, but he wanted to cook Jay his breakfast, and he remembered that people didn't like it when their kitchens burned down.

So, that was why Tim had to come. That, and that maybe some brotherly bonding time would be nice. He hadn't seen Tim without a mask in ages.

Tim gestured to the door. "Well, go handle him."

"What? Why me?"

"You're the one who dragged me here!" Tim argued.

Jason staggered through the door, hair standing straight on end. Dick refused the urge to ruffle it.

"What the hell are you doing here, Pretender?"

The younger boy's fists clenched. "Leaving, actually."

Dick frowned. "Tim-"

"I knew this wouldn't work," he snapped. "Jason will always hate me, don't you get it?"

The third Robin glared at Jason and stormed off angrily, vanishing through the window. Dick gave Jason a look.

"What?" Jason growled. Dick sighed. His two younger brothers had never gotten along, for reasons that were obvious. But Jason had admitted, to him, that he'd never hated Tim. And Dick could see it. He knew both of them would give their lives for each other.

If only they could see it. If only things hadn't been so rough for Jason, then maybe he would've been a great older brother.

If only a lot of things, really. A lot of things that didn't happen.

* * *

Jason hadn't meant to be angry. He hadn't tried to kill Tim for the past few weeks. He'd thought he had been making progress.

But progress meant moving forward, and moving forward meant letting go.

Yeah. Jason wasn't the best at that.

Seeing Tim was like, was like looking in a warped mirror. Everything Jason used to be, written on a face, the hope, the fear, even the way he looked up to Nightwing. He reminded Jason of himself all too much.

That, and that Tim reminded him of Bruce. That hurt, too.

Jason remembered, though. He remembered clawing himself out of his grave. He remembered the panic, the shock, and the hope.

Bruce was coming. He was coming.

But no, no he wasn't, he had been too late the first time, so he didn't even bother to come. Jason had watched, watched from the shadows.

Watched a new Robin get patted on the head. Congratulated on a job well done.

Did they even notice he was gone?

"Jason," Dick started. He knitted his eyebrows together. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?" Jason scowled. "All I did was ask him a question! This is my house, Dick, and I deserve to know what you and him were doing here."

Nightwing paused. "You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Today, Jay!"

"What do you mean, today? Oh-"

Oh god. He remembered, now. Dick had this funny idea that Robin should be celebrated at least once a year, so he had arranged for April 1st to be Robin Day.

Did he really come here just for that?

"Wait, so you broke in here and made me face the Replacement, just because it's some stupid made-up holiday?"

"It's not stupid!" The older man defended. "Being Robin was what each of us has always loved, Jason."

Then, quietly, "It's taken so much away from us. But it was worth it, don't you think?"

What? No. No, it absolutely wasn't worth it.

It wasn't worth the screaming, the dying, the living, none of it. It wasn't worth the feeling of not being good enough, not being what Bruce wanted. Hadn't even been worth the good times.

So why, if it wasn't worth it, was he still holding on?

* * *

Jason had been quiet for a while. Dick rubbed at his face and decided to hold up the pancakes. "Look, Jay, I didn't mean to bring Timmy along. It's just, well, I couldn't have made pancakes like this. I mean look at it! It wasn't burned or dropped at all!"

Jason's hands curled up into a fist. "You shouldn't have brought him here."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather have eaten my pancakes?"

The first Robin searched Jason's face. For years, Dick had been desperately trying to keep the family together. Only recently had he realised that there wasn't any need for a big event, or a gimmick, or anything. People just needed the truth.

If Jason and Tim talked it out, maybe they'd realise. Realise that they both were hurting themselves far more than they needed to. (Besides, maybe Jason could talk some sense into their younger brother about sleep. Dick had endangered their relationship too much to do it himself.)

"You don't have to, you know," Jason said suddenly.

Dick looked up. "Don't have to what?"

"Fix me."

At that, Dick blanched. He'd never thought of it like that. Never thought of Jason as broken. Damaged, sure, but wasn't everybody?

"...I'm not trying to fix you," he said slowly. "I'm trying to fix us. I thought you'd want that."

"You don't have to do that either, Dick. It's not your job. You don't have to get me to go home, to get Bruce to love me, to get me to love Tim. Why do you always try?"

Dick blinked again. "Even if I don't have to, I want to. I want you to be happy, because clearly, you're not gonna do anything yourself."

Jason closed his eyes. "...Are you happy, Dick?"

"What? Of course I am."

The younger man stared at him, intensely. Dick hadn't realised his eyes were that dark. Blue, almost fading to black. Weren't his eyes supposed to be light?

"If you're not telling me the truth, you might as well get out of here," Jason stated.

Dick froze. He was, he _was_ happy, he _WAS_. But. Well. Sometimes he was only happy because he felt like he should be happy, because that was what people needed.

Happiness was easy to see, but hard to find. Like love, actually. Like all good things. So, yeah, maybe Dick wasn't exactly happy. But there were moments.

And moments were enough.

* * *

Jason stared hard at Dick. He needed to know, needed to know whether the happiest person in his life was actually happy at all. To know whether life really was futile. How do you even know whether you're happy or not?

"...I am happy," Dick said, after a while. Jason was about to contradict him when he continued. "I'm happy when I'm with you. Even if you do try to kill me sometimes."

Jason sighed. It seemed like every time he met with Dick, it always ended the same way- confused. Conflicted. But maybe that's how healing works (it's not like Jason would know).

Besides, Jason had never tried to really kill Nightwing. Not now, not ever.

"And I'll be happier," Dick smiled, "if you'd just give Tim a chance. He's had a pretty rough time, too, you know."

Jason cocked his head. "I'll think about it."

Dick grinned. The mist, it seemed, had lifted. "Well, if we're done with the talking, the pancakes are getting cold."

"And since this is my house, I get the first serving, right?"

"Pfft. I'm the first Robin, therefore the first pancake is _mine_!"

Jason rolled his eyes as Dick dropped a pancake onto his plate. Both of them smiled.

"Happy Robin Day, Red Hood," Dick cheered.

"Happy Robin Day, Nightwing," Jason replied.

Maybe, holding on to this wasn't a mistake, after all.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I was thinking, in the next chapter, that I break away a bit and do it from Tim's perspective (don't worry, it'll still have Jason and Dick. Just wanted to change it up a little). Thanks for the strong support and increased reviews! You guys are the best!**


	5. Though I'm Weak

To Tim, it was complicated. Like all things.

It wasn't just dead, alive. Not black and white. There were always, always shades of grey.

The whole Batfamily were shades of grey. Some darker than others, sure, but all different variants of the same colour.

Grey. Like Gotham, really. Born and raised in darkness.

Things changed, and the more things changed, the more complicated they got. Jason died, and then Tim came along, and then Jason came back to life, and then...

See? Complicated.

But, apparently, not everyone saw it this way.

Dick had always seen things as white. Always saw things in the best of ways, drawing good out of people in a way Tim had never understood. Jason had always seen thing as black. Always saw things in the worst of ways, drawing bad out of himself in a way Tim had never accepted.

Tim saw things in shades of grey. To him, everyone had a little bit of good and a little bit of bad.

Some people, however, had more than a little bit of bad.

Some people, who were supposed to love him, wanted to kill him. A lot of people, actually. How many people really loved him?

Tim didn't know. Tim hated not knowing things.

But he thought he had, at least, figured out who wanted him dead.

And, as fate would have it, he was wrong.

* * *

It had started a standard night. The Riddler had broken out of Arkham (and really, that was no surprise), and Batman and Red Robin had tracked him down. They took care of him, like they always did. Then Batman left with Robin.

Red Robin had mixed feelings about that. He hadn't even gotten a thank you. (Although a thank you wasn't really what he wanted. Just maybe some time alone with Bruce would've made up for the missed birthdays.)

Then, there was a drug trade that needed to be handled. For that, Nightwing had been there (what he was doing in Gotham was irrelevant. Tim was just glad he was there).

But, of course, Nightwing had to get himself shot. From there, the night took a turn for the weird.

"Nightwing?" Red Robin whispered, slightly panicked. He bandaged the side wound roughly with a makeshift tourniquet.

"Ugh..." Nightwing slurred. "Has there... always been two of you?"

He was losing too much blood. Tim had to get him somewhere safe, fast. His immediate thought went to the Batcave, but Nightwing grabbed his arm, squeezing tight.

"Don't... don't take me to Bruce...my apartment..."

Red Robin bit his lip. "He can heal you better than I can. I-"

"I... trust you," Dick choked out.

Trust. Ha.

If Dick had really trusted him, why had he replaced him?

But Tim really didn't want Dick hating him more than he already did. He grabbed Nightwing's body and heaved him over his shoulder, silently cursing how small he was. Maybe if Tim were bigger, burdens would be easier to carry.

Maybe, if he were bigger, he'd be noticed more. That would be nice too.

Dick moaned slightly. "Shh," Tim soothed. "Don't worry. I'm taking you home."

"Home..." Dick mumbled.

"Home..."

* * *

Tim opened the window with a slight struggle. Dick had lost consciousness somewhere on their way to his house. He slid Dick down first, then proceeded to go through after him. Tim wasted no time in laying Dick on the couch, making sure the wounded area was properly bandaged, and collapsed on the ground.

Wow. Dick needed to lay off the snacks.

While he was sprawled on the floor, he looked Dick over. Smiled slightly when he saw that Dick had cut his hair. He'd been trying to get Dick to trim his haircut for ages- maybe, for once, somebody had actually listened to him.

With a sigh, Tim stood up and brushed his suit off. Had Dick's apartment always been this much of a mess? Immediately, he got to work throwing plastic bags away, dusting off the pictures, and got so absorbed that he missed the other person in the house.

"Well. What a surprise," a dry voice sounded out behind him.

For a second, Tim choked on nothing. What was he doing here? He really didn't want another bullet in his chest. He regained his composure and turned to face the man he had replaced.

"Ja-Red Hood," he said carefully, "what are you doing here?"

Jason (without his helmet) raised his eyebrows. "I could ask the same to you."

Tim hated it when he did that. Said things, like, like Jason had more authority, because he was older, because he was first. Because he had died. Because he was now alive.

It didn't matter if it was true. It bothered Tim either way.

He gestured to Dick. "He was shot on patrol. I took him here to heal him, since, you know... him and Bruce..."

"Yeah, it's kind of hard to miss," Jason deadpanned.

He walked over to the eldest, frowning at the bandaging. Tim watched the white streak in his hair. It had always disturbed him, that reminder. Reminding him that Jason probably turned out the way he was now because of Tim. That Tim was nothing, nothing more than his Replacement. (Always was, always will be.)

"Red Hood? What's wrong?"

Jason gave him an impatient look. "You bandaged it wrong. It was too tight, Re- it was too tight."

The third Robin looked it over, and frowned. "You're right. How-"

"I get shot a lot," he shrugged. "Guns to guns, you know?"

"Oh."

There was silence for a little while. Red Robin fiddled with his hands. He wasn't sure what to say- what do you say to a guy who has always hated you, and was being (in his own way) sort-of nice?

"...What are you doing here, anyway? You never answered my question."

Red Hood grinned. "If Dick can break into my apartment, I can break into his. That also means I can break into your apartment, if I wanted."

Tim closed his eyes. He remembered the time in his apartment. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

But, but Dick had tried. Had tried to get them together. And Tim desperately wanted to make Dick proud. (He wanted to make Bruce proud, too, but that was impossible.)

"...I'm sorry, you know."

"What?" Jason's head shot up.

"I'm sorry for replacing you," Tim gulped. "I'm sorry for... for not being good enough."

* * *

There was a time, somewhere, maybe as far back as forever, where Tim knew what he was. What he was doing, and why he was doing it. Not anymore, of course. No. Nowadays, he didn't know what he was doing at all. Why he was fighting so hard. It's not like anyone really, truly wanted him. He had sought out this life- he wasn't chosen, not like anybody else.

But there had been a time, he remembered. A time when he was wanted.

Just one time was enough. Enough to keep going.

Sure, they _said_ he mattered, but everybody lies. Of course he mattered. Everyone mattered, in their own small way.

But what counted was if they mattered enough to hold on to.

And obviously, in that way, he hadn't mattered at all.

Because he was just a Replacement, just a Pretender, just a boy who wanted to save the world. Because he was just another Robin, and not even one of the good ones. The one that wasn't good enough.

The one that got thrown away.

But, still; there was that lingering feeling, of something that was still there. Because there will be a time, somewhere, maybe as far forward as never, where Tim would know what he was. And remember what it was like, to be wanted. To have a whole family again.

And he'd just have to fight for it, he guessed. (After all, he was a Robin. And Robins fought no matter what.)

* * *

"...Don't say that," Jason said, after a pause.

Red Robin bristled slightly. He'd never heard Jason talk without sounding angry, or mad, or sarcastic. His voice was lighter than he imagined. It reminded him of Bruce.

"Why? You say that, too," Tim mumbled.

Jason let out a big, frustrated sigh. "Yeah, but when I say things, it doesn't matter. With you it's different."

"How?"

"Well, it's not like anyone would care what I say. They wouldn't even care if I died," Jason shrugged.

Tim stared, for a long time.

And then he got angry.

"Bruce and Dick basically spent years grieving over you, you know? Bruce is still grieving over you!"

"Yeah, but-"

" _I_ was the one who got dropped out! I didn't leave like Dick, I didn't die like you, no, I was still alive and still here and it hurt, okay?! It hurt!"

Jason opened his mouth, but before he could make a sound, Tim plunged on.

"It _hurt_. And... and Bruce, Bruce would've taken you back, and I'd have given anything for a chance to be with him, but you? You decided to go around killing people! Hurting people, like, like you don't care, when I know that you do care! He loved you, you know that? Everyone loved you! The only reason they aren't here now is because you decided to screw things up, just so you wouldn't have to deal with the fact that they really, honestly _loved you_!"

Tim finished yelling, and suddenly his cheeks felt hot. He hadn't meant to let himself go like that. No wonder he hadn't been a good Robin, he couldn't even keep himself in control.

As for Jason, well. Tim was trying to read his face but it hardened like stone. (Oh, great, Tim, you ruined something else.)

And then Jason opened his mouth. "They loved you too, you know. They love you too. And don't think, for a second, that you're the only one who feels unwanted. You're not."

Laying a blanket gently on Dick, Jason got his guns and walked towards the window. He lifted the latch up. Stuck his head out, for scouting. Put one leg over the window, but he was exiting slowly, as if waiting for something.

Someone.

"203, East End. Next to the parlor," Tim blurted. "Just because, well you mentioned earlier about breaking in, and you can't if you don't have my address-"

Jason smiled, and Tim shut up. He wasn't grinning, or smirking, or grimacing.

He was, honest-to-God, smiling.

"Thanks, Baby bird. I'll keep that in mind."

And he vanished into the world.

* * *

 **Sorry I've been away for so long, half-term just finished and I have been swamped! Hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for all the reviews (by the way, if anyone has a problem with Dick being called Dick, deal with it. Don't be so immature.) Thanks!**


	6. And Beaten Down

Dick woke up, gasping.

He had been dreaming again, a dream he had had countless of times before. Waking up in Wayne Manor. Happy again, Bruce probably outside, waiting for him. It was supposed to be a good dream.

But it always ended up choking him, choking him until he woke up to an empty room. He had been so happy, but it was so hard to breathe.

He groaned and sat up, pressing his hand to his side. It hurt. He recognised the pain as that of a bullet. (All pains were different, of course. And bullets hurt the most.)

"You shouldn't move too much," someone said from behind the couch.

Dick turned and saw Tim there, the ghost of a smile giving away his relief. He had grown since Dick had last saw him- yet somehow he hadn't changed at all. He was still small, still smart. Still hurt, somewhere in there. By Dick.

He grinned. "Hey, Baby bird. You saved my life again, didn't you?"

"That is my main job," Tim agreed. "That and making sure you don't drown in your own filth here."

Dick cast a look around and noticed that a lot of the mess on the floor had been cleaned up, things dusted and polished. He shook his head.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you, Timmy?"

Tim blushed. Dick couldn't help but notice a scar sticking out of his shirt.

Should've been there, could've been there. Wasn't. Didn't.

"Jason was here," Tim stated. "Just, um, thought you should know."

"Jason? And you?" Dick hesitated, fear creeping into his voice. "Did he give you... that...?"

"What?" Tim's hands flew to his scar. "Oh, no, no, he didn't. We just... um... talked."

"Talked? Like, in a conversation?"

"...Yeah. I guess."

Pride swelled up within him, only tampered by shame. He shouldn't have said, not even thought, that Jason could've done that- he was supposed to trust him, but- but...

What would he have done, if Jason had hurt Tim? They were both his brothers. He loved them both, equally, but...

He would've forgiven Jason, that was for sure. He'd always forgive him.

But he would not have forgotten.

"Good," Dick forced a smile. "I'm glad you guys are finally seeing eye to eye."

Tim blushed, and sat down next to Dick. Dick wanted to wrap his arms around his small frame, but for some reason, he didn't. How bad had things really gotten between them? They were right next to each other, yet somehow, it was like Dick couldn't see Tim at all.

Dick hadn't meant to. Damian had needed so much training, still needed so much training. And Bruce had been dead, and there had been just so much confusion, so much anger. So much pain.

And Tim had refused to give up. He had been right, of course, but Dick had needed to let go so desperately that he had let go of Tim too, without realising it.

It had hurt so much. It still hurt.

Dick shifted on the sofa, and sighed. "Tim," he started slowly, "do you hate me?"

Tim looked taken off guard. "What? What do you mean?"

"For... for replacing you. For shutting you out."

Tim looked down at his hands. "I could never hate you, Dick. I just... I thought you hated me. I thought you didn't want me anymore."

Tim sucked in a breath. "I thought you didn't love me."

* * *

Dick remembered finding out Bruce had died.

He didn't remember the where, or the why, or the how. But the memory was always there.

He remembered crying. He remembered screaming. He remembered the disbelief, the grief, the acceptance.

The loose threads. How he could never tell Bruce, ever again, that he was sorry, that he loved him, that somewhere inside of Dick, he had forgiven him.

There was just so much... regret. Overwhelming. Like a tidal wave. But the others, Alfred, Clark, they had kept it at bay. Saying 'there was nothing we could do'. Nothing we could do.

But Tim, Tim had kept on hoping. Even when Dick had given up. And that made him angry, because if he was really alive, that meant that Dick still had a chance to say all those things. And that meant that he was wrong, and that he had one more thing to regret.

So, yes, he had shut Tim and his ideas out. He had abandoned him because Tim had been right, because he had dared to hold on. And then he had replaced him, because Tim wasn't fit to be a partner, because he deserved much more than Dick as his mentor.

But he had never hated him. Ever.

(Bruce had loved Tim, and Dick loved anyone that Bruce did. Maybe that's why Dick didn't love himself.)

Dick had loved Tim, truly loved him, but maybe love and hate were too close to tell apart. Dick hadn't meant to push him away, he hadn't.

But he had anyway. And the ends shadow the means.

Dick had tried so hard, so hard to fix things. How did they always break even more? But, this time...

Not this time.

Not ever again.

* * *

Dick threw his arms around Tim, pulling him close. He felt the younger boy tense, but he squeezed tighter anyway.

"I do love you," he choked, "I _do_. I'm sorry, I didn't, I pushed you away, but I _do_ love you. You're not unwanted, Timmy, you're not."

"...Dick?" Tim breathed.

"I don't hate you, I don't, I _don'_ t."

Tim wrenched himself away, but placed his hands on Dick's shoulders. "Dick... it wasn't your fault. Calm down, okay?"

Dick breathed heavily, but he was still shaking. Because there was this fear, underlying everything he did, that he was breaking things, breaking people, doing the wrong thing, without even knowing.

That he was losing himself.

That he was turning into Bruce.

He covered his face with his hands. "I ruined things, Tim, and I'm sorry, and I want to fix things, but I'm doing things all wrong, but I don't know what's right-"

"You're not the only one," Tim interrupted. "You're not the only one who's doing something wrong. I thought... I wasn't good enough, for anyone."

"Of course you are, Tim, of course-"

"And so are you, Dick! You don't have to try so hard!"

Dick flinched, like he had been struck. There was a low humming in his chest. Peering through his fingers, he took a longer look at Tim. And now he saw the difference.

The way his eyes didn't light up, like they used to. A shadow of a scar etched in his cheek. A hidden frown behind a smile.

And yet, underneath, the same beating heart. Older, sure, maybe bleeding, but still.

Beating. Hoping. As living required.

Living was, at its core, trying. And Dick wanted to live, wanted everyone to live, so he had to try for all of them. Sure. It was hard. But things were supposed to be hard, weren't they?

"What do you mean?" Dick asked.

Tim rolled his eyes, in a not-Tim gesture. Dick smiled at the normalcy of it, as Tim had never learned how to relax properly.

"You just keep, you know... trying so hard. You don't have to fix me, Dick. I... honestly, it wasn't your fault," Tim whispered.

Dick sighed, softly. "It wasn't your fault." Then, with a slight grin, "you know, you sound just like Jason."

Tim blinked in surprise. "I do?"

"Yeah, he said the same thing, a while back."

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

"And what did you say?"

"Well... I said that I wasn't trying to fix him," he said slowly, marvelling how two different conservations ended up in the same place. "I said that I was trying to fix us. I thought he'd wanted that."

Tim smiled, slightly. "I think he wants that too, Dick. I think we all want that. Even..."

Even Bruce, the silence said. Even the one who started this mess. (The mess, of course, being this family. But Dick had always loved messes.)

"Why don't we start, then?" Dick asked.

Raising his eyebrows, Tim responded, "isn't that what we're doing right now?"

"Huh. I guess it is."

A pause.

"...Being fixed feels weird," Tim said softly. "It... it sorta feels like being broken again, but..."

"But the result is different," Dick finished for him. They smiled at each other, just a little grin, but it meant more than anything in that one little moment.

They leaned against each other, Tim's head on Dick's shoulder, Dick's arm snaked around his body.

"Hey Tim?" Dick asked.

"What?" Tim's eyes flickered over to him.

"Thank you."

Tim smiled again. "Anytime, Dick," he said.

"Anytime."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter (boy was it difficult writing it)! The next chapter I post will be a little different, not so much spoken dialogue as a monologue-thingy. Please don't let this discourage you from reading it, though. By the way, any suggestions are welcome!**


	7. I'll Slip Away

It looked the same.

Exactly as he had last left it, except maybe with less dark spaces and more shadows. The garden was the same, trimmed to perfection, with the bushes he had trampled on restored in all its former glory.

(Are you listening, Bruce? It's me.)

The gates was as closed as ever, even when he had been welcome here. Not that he had ever been welcome here. Jason, always the trouble child. Left to pick up after the trail of the Golden Boy, but he had lost it, and had been left behind.

Of all the places in Gotham, this might have been the one that reeked most of death.

(It's been a while. It really has, hasn't it?)

He climbed over the metal spikes, landing softly on the grass. The security was always full of holes.

Haha. Full of holes. What an oxymoron, for something to be filled with nothing. Just like Jason's grave.

Well. Just like Jason.

Taking a step, his breath caught. Why did it feel so wrong to be here? Stupid Dickiebird had said he belonged here. And he had lied. Because belonging wouldn't feel so, so wrong.

Would it?

How would he know?

(Hey... did you miss me?)

There was a slight tingling in his spine as he walked past the pond. He remembered the times he'd run around the rim, laughing, skipping, sometimes pausing to feed the fish.

The thought of that tired him.

He remembered it, sure, but it was hazy, difficult to catch. Like it could've been someone else entirely.

Wow, how long has it really been?

Had he always been this old?

Maybe it was just the anger. Anger burned your life out quicker, or something. Some junk like that.

Nah. It was probably the pain.

After all, Bruce was getting pretty old.

(I'm right here, you know.)

What felt like hours passed, and he'd only made it to the halfway mark. He knew what it was, as there were a row of lavenders that grew on either side of it. Halfway home. Halfway back.

Halfway had always been the turning point, but sometimes halfway slipped by too fast, too quick, for him to choose. He was going too fast, dying too quickly, crashing too hard- and all that was left was 'sorry' and 'too late' and 'why?'

Yes, he was sorry.

Yes, he was too late.

But why, why Jason, why did he have to be the one whom Bruce had to fail, the one that got thrown away?

Just one turn, and he could leave. Well, no. It wasn't as simple as that.

It was never as simple as that.

(...Why don't you answer me, Bruce?)

It was silent. Too silent.

Didn't that little brat live here? Or was he out there- with Bruce, no, that didn't hurt- saving people, being the 'hero he was meant to be'?

Maybe he was here. Maybe he was looking down on Jason, through the window, raising his nose in contempt at the world around him. At all the little people, and the dead ones too.

Damian. The 'true' son of Batman. Biological. Blood.

As if blood mattered. Because Jason had bled, and made Batman bleed, and that should mean he was more of a son than any of the other ones. And they all knew that wasn't true.

It wasn't blood that family had. Not riches, or legal documents, or sharing the same house or whatever. No. It was trust.

And Jason didn't have enough to even attempt another broken family.

(I don't believe you.)

Why was he here, anyway?

It's not like anyone invited him. It's not like Bruce would be there, at the door, holding his arms out. Ha. As if.

He was too old for dreams so young. It didn't bother him, not anymore. After all, Bruce was the one that had taught him to fear dreaming.

But. But, what? But the Replacement, the Replacement had said that he was loved. By Bruce, by Dick. By everyone.

And he had always known that, deep down, but it had been the voice of the dreams he used to have. And it had taken a slap in the face from someone who was supposed to hate him to realise the truth in it.

Jason, Jason, weren't you better than this?

(I... I don't understand. What are you saying?)

The steps. He was at the steps.

Three little, tiny marble steps. And yet suddenly, somehow, they seemed like a mountain.

Jason knew that he could vault over them easily. Maybe not as well as Golden Boy, Demon Brat, or even- just maybe- the Pretender. But, still.

A competition's no fun when there's no prize for first place.

But, there was a prize. Everyone knew it, as soon as they walked through the door, the first time they put on the costume, when they got their first scar- they knew.

Bruce. Bruce was the prize.

Because everyone, everyone knew that he couldn't just love all of them. He didn't have the heart for it.

So, yeah, maybe it was a competition. But Jason was already out of the running, so he just didn't care anymore.

Still.

First place would be nice.

 _It didn't matter anyway. Prizes are only for winners, not cheaters._

(Don't give up on me! Please!)

The door. God, the door.

He was so close now, but the closer he got, the more it felt like he was moving backwards.

He was over this. Sure, maybe he was having a 'good week' with Baby Bird and all, but images belonged to imagination and lies belonged to liars.

He was broken. That was it. And what did he think, exactly, returning to the start of the break would do? Fix him?

No, no, he had been over this. Coming here would fix nothing, nothing that mattered. Yet he was still here, because, because for once in his life, he didn't want things to matter.

Things used to be so...simple.

One moment he was dead. The next, alive.

Dead. Alive.

Simple.

But things weren't like that, not at all. Because- oh god why does it hurt- was he even really alive? Breathing, sure. His heart was pumping blood like it was supposed to. But he was still a shadow, half buried six feet under, and he had clawed his way out of the ground years ago and yet, still, he was drowning.

And, always, almost. He was almost there. He had almost died.

He was almost alive.

Bruce had almost made it.

Almost didn't mean anything. Almost meant failed, try harder, good-job-but-you-missed-it.

And it just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, because he was almost opening the door.

He had left this choice behind at halfway, hadn't he? But the doubt, it would follow him, anywhere.

It almost left him.

Almost.

(Hey, Bruce, I'm glad to have found you. I almost didn't make it.)

* * *

"Father?" Damian asked, looking up. He had heard something at the door.

Frowning, he analysed the situation. Father would not have made such an obnoxious noise, like someone trying to run.

Perhaps it was Grayson. He had come back, finally. Damian had been getting impatient.

He opened the door, but was faced with nothing but air. Oh. Just one of those- what did Grayson used to say?- pranks.

He sighed, and closed the door.

* * *

(Sorry I'm late. God, Bruce, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. I knew you wouldn't give up on me, I just knew it. Hope you didn't miss me too much. You know, I almost gave up on you, but, I knew, you'd still be waiting for me.

Right, Bruce?

Bruce?)

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed this! I admit it was slightly different, but I hope it was up to standard. This is the first introduction of Damian into this little universe. shejams was the one who suggested it, but if you want more on Damian, just review! Thanks for reading, and thank you for the continued support!**


	8. Into The Sound

**Okay, I'm sorry for not updating for a while. School's been real hectic and all, plus I suffered from the most severe case of writer's block ever. I'm still in recovery, actually. This chapter takes places before all the other chapters, sort of an intro for Tim becoming Red Robin, sort of Tim and Dick angst (and beginning fluff). Just read and you'll get it (the intro is a clue to the chronology).**

* * *

Some things don't start; some things were always there.

There isn't a beginning, not one you could see. Just a long mile of events stretching back and back and back.

And, if you looked forward enough, maybe there was an end somewhere. After all, things were never meant to last forever.

So, yes, sometimes there wasn't a starting point. But sometimes there were.

Just one moment, when everything seemed to snap. Or maybe one day, that started out like any other, became a starting point for something you wanted to stop.

It didn't matter, though, did it?

What mattered was how it ended.

(But, sometimes, you have to go back to the beginning. Because the beginning is always the start of the end, isn't it?)

* * *

It started out like any other day: rough.

Maybe it was just a Gotham thing, but it seemed like every day there were at least twenty problems that required your assistance and/or your time and patience. Today, it seemed like Tim had his hands full.

Wayne Enterprises was still recovering from a massive drop in sales (in which department, Tim couldn't remember). It made everyone very cranky, including Lucius Fox, whom you do not want to get on the bad side of when he's cranky.

And then, after a stifling morning spent avoiding Fox's growling orders, he had had to type up an assignment for the Teen Titans (you know, just because your team leader actually has a brain, it doesn't mean he loves to do paperwork all the time.)

Of course, he still had all the stuff left over from last week, as he had topped out after 3 days of no sleep. So he had some catching up to do with that, too.

All in all, it wasn't a pleasant day.

So when he was going home, Tim had been dreaming about bedtimes and warm food. Because being strict and busy and unable to say no wore people out.

He was at his door, fumbling with his keys. He really needed some rest, or some nothing to do. That would be nice.

He was tired, tired enough to not notice the man sitting on the couch.

But he wasn't tired enough to miss the actual couch.

"What the he-"

"Timmy!"

Dick bounded over to him, wrapping his arms around Tim's torso. He squirmed his way out of the death grip.

"Dick!" Tim said in his most Bruce-like voice.

Immediately, Dick quieted down. "Aw, Tim, I thought you'd be glad to see me!"

Tim crossed his arms. "Would you please explain to me why my sofa is pink!?"

Sitting in the middle of his tidy living room was a bright pink, glittering sofa. It looked as if a unicorn had come and thrown up. Tim wrinkled his nose, but Dick just grinned and waved his hand casually.

"Oh, I was decorating. This place is so dull! I just glittered a few things-"

"Wait," Tim interrupted, "how many things did you...'glitter'?"

"Oh, you know," Dick said mysteriously, "some things."

The younger boy huffed. He had not been expecting this, not at all, and Tim Drake was not fond of surprises.

He sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Dick grinned. "Excellent question!" He dug his hands into his pockets and produced a small, wrinkled piece of paper. On it was scrawled some sort of to-do list.

"Um... I'm not going to go grocery shopping with you," Tim frowned.

The current Batman laughed. "No," he shook his head. "This is my bucket list. And you're on it."

"You broke into my house and made my sofa pink. Is that what you had in mind?"

"Not exactly," Dick conceded. "Look, right here! 'Spend an entire day with Tim, and teach him to be confident.'"

He flashed the paper in Tim's face, too fast for him to see it.

"Wait a second," he said slowly, "what do you mean by 'teach me to be confident'?"

"Oh Tim, everyone knows you haven't reached your full potential!" Dick flounced.

"And how exactly were you going to help me 'reach' that?"

Dick grinned. "You'll have to come with me, if you wanna find out."

Tim shook his head, but he felt something warm inside. It had been ages since he last saw Dick, when he (replaced him) was introduced to Damian.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

* * *

"This is the worst day of my life."

Tim stared, blankly, at his menu. Loud singing was blared from one corner of the room, coming from the stage. The karaoke stage.

"Don't be like that," Dick said smoothly. "This'll be fun! Singing is all about confidence!"

Tim huffed and crossed his arms. "I'm not going up there."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not!"

Their arguing started to attract attention, which made Tim uncomfortable. Every time someone looked at him, it was like they were judging him. Which, to be fair, they probably were.

"Look," the third Robin reasoned, "I'm perfectly confident already, and this singing will probably embarrass me even more, so why don't we just drop it?"

Dick pulled out his most convincing kicked puppy expression. "Pleeeeaaaaaaaase? It'll be _fuuuuuuuuuun_!"

Tim snorted. "Over my dead body," he quipped.

Then, suddenly, a shadow passed over Dick's face. Just a flicker, but enough to make Tim worry. Dick covered it with a smile, but it was a broken one, and suddenly Tim felt himself choking on his own guilt. (Shouldn't have mentioned the dead part, hit too close to home, didn't it?)

"Maybe I'll try it," Tim conceded, watching Dick's face closely.

He broke out into a grin, and Tim sagged with relief. "That's great! I'm choosing your song right now," he said as he sauntered to the karaoke machine.

Tim frowned. He had believed before that Dick had just wanted to hang out with him, but now he felt like something was wrong. (After all, they hadn't made contact in weeks. Dick didn't have time for him.)

He shook his head. Dick was probably just like this because of... recent events. After all, people who wear their hearts on their sleeves bleed the most.

"And coming up next, we have... Tim!"

He sighed. He couldn't linger on that broken smile. There were bigger, more embarrassing things to worry about at the moment.

"Tonight, Tim will be singing Friday by Rebecca Black!"

Tim's eyes widened. "DICK!"

* * *

"So?" Dick licked his ice cream, getting chocolate smeared across his mouth.

"I don't agree with you," Tim said, after some consideration. "I mean, riding an eagle is hard enough, but if that eagle is blindfolded and going into Mordor- that's gotta be tough."

Dick laughed. "Man, I have got to take you to the movies more often."

"Yeah, you should."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Tim wished all days were like this, just hanging out, no fear of guns or replacements (or people who thought you were the replacement). Just Tim and Dick, like it used to be.

The older man let out a long breath, and threw the remainder of his ice cream away.

"Tim... we need to talk," he said finally.

"Um... Bruce already gave me the talk, and I'm old enough to-"

"No! No, no, no... It's about... Bruce," Dick said slowly.

Tim bit his lip. "What... about him?"

"He's dead."

They stopped near the main fountain, water spraying in a mist above the air. All Tim could hear was the roaring of the spray, like a transparent hand reaching for the sky.

"Yeah, he's been declared dead for 2 months now," Tim acknowledged. He instinctively backed away from his older brother.

"But you don't believe it."

Tim looked away. "You know I don't. Look, why are we-"

"Tim, you've got to understand. Alfred tells me you've been _investigating_."

"I've just been collecting information, that's all."

Dick searched his face. "It's dangerous. You don't even have a costume-"

"Well whose fault was that!?"

The air seemed to get heavy with tension. Tim's fists clenched, unclenched. He shouldn't have come.

"I should've known you came here to get something for me," he seethed, "instead of some junk about a bucket list."

"No, Tim-"

"I have to leave."

"No!" Dick grabbed his arm and gripped it tight. "Look, I know it's hard for you, but Bruce... you have to let go, sometime. That's what he would have wanted," Dick pleaded.

"So you're going to give up on him?"

"I'm not giving up on anyone. Tim, please, he's-"

"Don't! Don't say it! How can you believe that, of all people? He's gone through so much-"

"Bruce is just a man, okay!? And men...they..." Dick covered his face. "I don't want you to go on like this. He's... it's not right. You've got to let him go."

"This isn't like that," Tim whispered. "He's alive. He _is_. I can _feel_ it."

"What if you're wrong?"

Wrong? Of course, Tim always feared being wrong. But worse than being wrong was being afraid, and he was sick of being afraid.

"What if I'm right, Dick? What then?"

"...I can't take that risk, if it means losing you," Dick said softly. "You're going to get hurt if you continue like this. You've been poking in some bad places, and Batman isn't here to protect you anymore. Please. Don't put your faith... in..."

"In Bruce?"

"In death, Tim. Death doesn't give back. It only takes."

Tim looked straight into Dick's eyes.

"He's not _dead_."

He turned around, clutching his hand to his chest. His heart beat wildly. (How could he give up like that? They were Robins. Fighting was in their _wings_.) Dick, the man he had looked up to his entire life, who could never be wrong- the one who never gave up.

Tim was stupid to not listen to him. It was irrational, to believe in things with no evidence. (But life after death existed, didn't it? Jason is proof of that.) But he wouldn't listen to rationality, not this time.

"Tim," Dick called.

Tim didn't turn around. He held his breath. He could hear it in Dick's tone, the way he hesitated. Their relationship was probably 6 feet under now (where Bruce is, apparently), but Tim wouldn't take anything back. Because he was sick and tired of being told what to believe in.

"Tim... are you sure?"

Oh, yes. That was a question he could answer.

"Confident," he replied.

* * *

 **This was probably the hardest chapter to write yet. I wanted to write Damian, but I had absolutely _no idea_ how. And then this was supposed to be a fluffy one-shot to cover the time, and then it became this weird hybrid thingy. Sorry for any inconsistencies. Seriously, This was so super difficult. Ugh. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, liking, and following my story! (And a special thanks to Guest, who managed to notice that the chapter titles are song lyrics. This is an applause to the _one and only_ guest!) Thanks a bunch**


	9. The Ghost Of You

Damian did not miss. Trained to perfection, he was taught that missing was a sign of weakness. A liability. You had to always find your target, strike it, kill it in one blow. This was efficient. Deadly. It was easier this way.  
When he moved in with Father, he had been taught things a little differently. That the easy way was rarely the right one. That if you killed someone, you got rid of the responsibility that you held to their life. That there was always, always a line. But, still, Father did not tolerate missing.  
So Damian did not miss. Not targets, not people. There were no exceptions.  
At least, there weren't supposed to be.  
But Grayson, the insufferable, mysterious Grayson, was not tethered to these rules. He had always delighted in being 'unique' (his code word for strange), something the 12-year-old could never understand. Grayson made himself vulnerable and open on purpose. And he missed people, savagely and greatly, hurting himself in the process.  
Damian did not understand that, but obviously, Grayson had to have had some sort of strange magic to him. Something that made people comply to his wishes, even against their own.  
Because Damian missed him.  
And Damian did not miss.

* * *

He cursed silently to himself, using swear words he had learned from the brief outings into society (Grayson had not permitted him to speak such words, although sometimes he pointed out that Grayson's first name _was_ a swear word). He refused to show any fear, though. Damian Wayne was the son of Batman, heir to the League of Shadows, protector of Gotham. Damian Wayne was not allowed to be scared.  
Raising his hand, he knocked loudly. The door was rusty, and Damian scrunched his nose up. Jason Todd had such poor taste in apartments.  
There was a scuffling sound inside, followed by a loud clang. Footsteps shuffled towards the door. He briefly wondered how a previous Robin lacked such simple skills as stealth, before the door swung open.  
"Todd," Damian sneered.  
The second Robin looked down at him, bleary blue eyes blinking sleepily. A scowl crossed both of their faces.  
"Demon Spawn," he greeted. "What happened? Did you have a bad dream?"  
The current Robin gritted his teeth. He regretted this decision immediately. "I am not a child," he spat. "I do not require coddling."  
The older man scoffed. His appearance was somewhat rugged, but then again, Damian does not remember when he had ever seen Todd clean. Apparently, lack of self-care ran in the family.  
Jason ran his hand through his hair. "What do you want? I didn't kill anyone this past week. If this is another one of Bruce's-"  
"I am not here to discuss Father," Damian interrupted snidely. "I am here to discuss your instance of trespassing."  
"Trespassing?"  
The child crossed his arms. It had not taken long to figure out who had been the one at Wayne Manor- Todd was the only one stupid enough to attempt such a thing. The only thing he had not managed to figure out was why, as Damian thought sneaking into the house was a strange thing to do, even for Todd. (Then again, Drake often said that Todd was unpredictable. But to acknowledge that would be to acknowledge Drake was right, which was _unacceptable_.)  
"Do not try to fool me. I caught your pathetic attempt at a practical joke on the security cameras. You weren't being very stealthy."  
Todd's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, you mean- you mean last week?"  
"Yes, of course. Unless you are admitting that you have trespassed more than once."  
"That wasn't an attempt at a prank, Demon. I was..."  
"What?" Damian demanded. He was getting tired of this conversation. He just wanted to know why. (Why had he come here? Why had Grayson loved him? Why had Grayson left him?)  
There was a brief silence. Damian thought this rather strange, as Todd usually filled silence with insults.  
"...I was trying to go home," Jason said bitterly. "But I guess I didn't try hard enough."  
At this, Damian frowned. "But... isn't this your home?" He asked, gesturing to the apartment building.  
"No. I mean, yes, but..." Jason threw his hands up in frustration. "Honestly, sometimes you're more annoying than Dickhead."  
"Do not speak of Grayson that way!" Damian said hotly.  
It was not as if he was protecting Grayson, not at all, but Grayson did not deserve that nickname. Not as much as Damian did his. (Will they only ever think of you as a demon?)  
"Whoa, I didn't mean it. It's just a nickname," Todd shrugged, his lip twitching upwards.  
Damian immediately blushed. Todd was laughing at him, he knew it.  
He scowled and changed the topic. "How can you not know whether this is your home or not?"  
"It's complicated, okay?" Jason folded his arms and grimaced. "Do you know where you belong?"  
"Of course I do! I belong with the Batman!"  
"Which Batman?"  
"Grayson, of... course..."  
Damian clamped his mouth shut. No, he wanted to be with Father, the true Batman, his biological family. The one he tried to please. (But Grayson was _my_ Batman. He chose _me_.)  
"Well, brat, seems like you don't know where you belong after all."  
The unmasked Red Hood shook his head and started to turn around. And, suddenly, rage gripped Damian hard. He would not be exposed like this.  
With all his power, Damian pounced.

* * *

Grayson used to tell Damian he was special.  
And Damian believed him, which was where the problem really began. Because special people were different.  
Damian wanted to be a lot of things, but he wasn't so sure about being different.  
He knew he was above people, in a sense. They had not trained like he had. Even people who were highly skilled in combat, such as Grayson, were quite lacking in other areas of intelligence. Damian Wayne possessed more skill than Drake ever would get.  
But sometimes Damian wondered- just wondered, not wished- what it would be like to have been born the same. Had he not been heir to the League of Assassins, would he have been normal?  
Perhaps then Father would've been proud of him. (Perhaps then Mother would not have been... what she is.)  
He had often wondered about that. He knew it was wrong, wishing to be at Drake's level. It was just too hard to stay at the top.  
Todd had been born normal, though. Born with human parents who lived and died. And it had been life that had warped him into cruelty. So, perhaps, it took a normal life to fit in.  
Damian was sure they could never have a normal life.  
(But, well, maybe he didn't need it. After all, Grayson had been special too.)

* * *

"Okay okay, _STOP_!" Todd wrenched himself from Damian's grip. His arms wrapped around Damian's body, securing him tightly as he thrashed about. They ended up on the floor in a sort of weird hug.  
"Jesus, Damian, you're more volatile than your grandfather!"  
Damian attempted to bite his captor's hand. This was an embarrassment- he would not be taken down by Todd, of all people!  
"You take that back!" He cried. "I know where I belong!"  
Jason sighed. He pinched Damian in a nerve cluster, causing him to go limp. "You don't have to fight so hard all the time, little bird. It tires everyone out."  
"You...you damaged me! Unhand me this instant!" Damian struggled to move, but huffed in exasperation. It seemed he was stuck in this unseemly pose. (Perhaps all his brothers were secret hug monsters. He shuddered at the thought.)  
"You're just lucky I'm not using this to blackmail you," Jason shrugged. "And I'm not letting you move again until you admit it. You don't know where home is either, do you?"  
Damian glared. He refused to admit something so childish. He knew where he lived. He knew where Father lived. That should be his home, shouldn't it?  
But he had to leave. Before someone found him here, with Todd's arms around him.  
"...I have not yet secured a definite answer," Damian admitted. "Now will you let me go?"  
"Oh... yeah, your body will get back to normal in about 15 minutes or so."  
"Todd! You stupid-"  
"Hey, your precious Dickiebird used this move on me all the time. Figures I should pass it along."  
"Pass it to your Replacement, not me."  
"Yeah, I'll do it the next time I see him."  
They sat in an agreeable, if awkward, silence. Damian closed his eyes.  
"Grayson... how is he?"  
"He's fine. Still annoying as ever, though."  
"...Does he hate me?"  
Jason cast him a strange look. "What? What gave you that idea?"  
Damian bit his lip. He knew it was not a good idea to bare your soul to a not-so-sane relative, but he was tired and technically kidnapped. He could be excused, then, for doing stupid things.  
"He never comes to see me," Damian whispered. "He promised me he'd love me forever."  
He realized how childish that sounded, but it was too late. Todd shook his head.  
"Forever doesn't exist," he said knowingly. "Don't put your faith in things like that. Tomorrow will always let you down."  
Then, suddenly, Jason grinned. "You know, you and me have a lot in common. We're both abandoned now, aren't we?"  
"Grayson did not abandon me! And we are nothing alike!"  
"Maybe," Jason mused. "You haven't died yet after all."  
Damian heaved a long sigh, and tutted. "Do you think death is what separates you from us, Todd? Don't be foolish. My grandfather has spent 1000 years walking this Earth dying again and again, and I only hate him for the lives he has lead. Deaths do not make us. Our lives do."  
Todd's mouth hung ridiculously wide open. Damian shook his head mentally. He'd thought the man would have figured this out years ago, but judging from his expression, he had not. Idiocy did run in the family after all.  
"...Damian?"  
"Yes, Todd?"  
"...Did you mean that?"  
"I mean every word I say. I only lie to criminals."  
Todd's mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish. "...You know, you could just talk to Dick."  
"What?" Damian stared at him. Perhaps Todd was even more deranged than he had originally envisioned.  
Jason sighed. "Look, kid, I'm trying to help you. You miss him, right? Then tell him."  
"...I don't miss him."  
"But you want him to return anyway."  
"I... simply will not tolerate his absence."  
Todd looked at Damian in that condescending way he hated, but he let it slide. He''d think of a punishment later.  
"I don't get to judge you. That would be hypocritical, to say the least. But..." Todd gave him a look. "If you did miss him... you know where to find him. Just don't wait until it's too late."  
"Tt. If you think too late is what you have with Father, you should see him when your death date comes around. You really have no clue, do you?"  
A silence followed.  
"Thank you," Todd said finally.  
"I accept your gratitude," Damian replied. He had not been used to being thanked. Usually he only heard begging.  
"...Todd?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I still cannot move."  
"Well... I think I could stay here for a while."  
"...Alright."  
For the briefest of moments, a smile crossed both of their faces.  
"...Yeah. All right."

* * *

 **Yes! Finally finished this! Sorry if it seems a bit OOC, to be honest I have a lot of trouble with Damian's characterisation. It's so hard to write as him, and yet so many fanfics with him are so great- it's hard to live up to it! Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and with the Christmas holiday coming up in a month, I might be able to update more! So consider that my Christmas present (but I might not update until Christmas break, so beware). Thanks for the continued support. It makes my day seeing your reviews. Well, orangesunset12, signing out! :)**


	10. Is Close To Me

Things leave. That had always been the way of the world. Things leave, some more quickly than others, and some so quick that with just a slight turn of the head they're gone.

They're gone, and you didn't even realise it.

One moment your parents are smiling at you, and the next they're falling. And somehow the smiles are the moments you forget. (Not the falling. Because in his dreams, they're always falling.)

Moments like those, moments that you try to keep, most often slip away. And sometimes, with those moments, people slip away too. They slip away so quickly that with just a change of costume they're gone.

They're gone, and he didn't even realise it.

* * *

Dick shrugged off his costume, shoulders burning with the events of the night. He had had a nasty run-in with Clayface, in which the shape-shifting sandman had slammed him against a wall, injuring his right shoulder. It wasn't serious, but it hurt like fire. Pain came in all shapes and sizes after all.

Slumping into the couch, he was about to take his mask off when he heard a little scuffling. It wasn't much- he could almost take it for a rat- but years of suspicion and villains and 'accidents' had taught him to double check everything.

Removing his mask silently, he snuck around the corner into the kitchen, where the sound seemed to be emanating from. Pots and pans stacked up in the sink, various scorch marks present from when he had attempted to cook something edible. He mentally made a sticky note to wash his dishes (or maybe get Tim to do that- what, it's an older brother privilege!).

The scuffling grew louder, until Dick realised it was coming from the kitchen window. The sound was followed by the distinctive cursing of a former assassin attempting to break open the latch. By now, Dick was more amused than disturbed. He silently made his way to the window.

"You know," he said, grinning, "I have a door."

Damian's head jerked up suddenly, the look of shock quickly replaced by his usual look of annoyance. "I am well aware of the properties of this apartment, Grayson."

"Yes. That's exactly why you're trying to break in through the window."

Damian huffed. His hair had grown longer since Dick had last seen him (did Bruce ever take him out for a haircut?), framing his round face. He had grown taller, shoulders getting broader too, yet he was still small for his age. His eyes remained the same shade of piercing blue.

He was a spitting image of Bruce, scowl and all.

"Here," Dick smiled, opening the window and offering him a hand. Damian glared at it but took it anyway.

His hand felt... familiar. Dick had missed it.

"So, little D, what brings you here?"

Damian landed on the floor with catlike reflexes. Figures, since he hung out with cats so often. Animals had always been Damian's soft spot.

"I... simply came here to check if you were alive."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm not alive?"

The younger boy scuffed his feet. Dick had always found it strange, how arrogance had always been his cover for insecurity. All of the batfamily had different ways of dealing with being insecure. Jason got angry. Tim got to work. And Damian... well. He was taught that insecurity was a weakness. It was like a spiral downwards, fear after fear after fear. And in order to hide that, Damian had to pretend to have no weaknesses.

And Bruce. Bruce didn't have to hide anything, did he? Because he's perfect. That's why he gets to judge them. That's why he gets to decide who's good enough to be Robin, and who isn't.

Dick just wasn't good enough.

"You haven't come by in a while. Not that I minded," Damian covered hastily, "but Father would be devastated if you died. I was just doing him a favour."

"Oh. So you didn't miss me?"

"I... don't ask stupid questions, Grayson. Stupidity does not suit you."

"Aw, is that your way of saying I'm smart?"

Damian blushed furiously. Dick had to egg him on like this, because taking Damian's words at face value was never the best idea. He had to show his littlest brother that loving someone wasn't a weakness, that it was a strength. But it was a bit difficult when you lived with someone like Bruce.

He grabbed Damian by the arm and plopped both of them down onto the couch. Automatically, Damian curled into Dick's side.

"...Grayson?"

"Yeah, Dami?"

"...I want you to come home."

* * *

The cowl had been the weirdest part.

The cape he hadn't been used to that much, but as Robin he had had plenty of practice. He'd adjusted the armor to suit his aerial style better, so that had been fine too.

But the cowl. It was so... heavy. It didn't even fit him, not really. It was meant for another face.

Damian hadn't been his either. Sure, Dick had loved him, loved him more than anything, but just because you love something doesn't mean it's yours. And Dick had tried to pretend that he was the Batman, that he could fill his shoes, but he couldn't.

Because Dick wasn't good enough. Not good enough for Batman, not good enough for Robin. Not good enough for Damian.

But he had tried, damn it, he did. Why didn't that matter?

So when Bruce came back, well, he wasn't needed anymore. Wasn't needed for Gotham, or for Damian. Because it really didn't matter how hard he tried. He would never would- never wanted to be- Bruce.

And he thought that Damian had felt the same way. And sure, it had hurt to leave him, but pain was normal. Pain was necessary.

After all, wasn't Bruce the one Damian wanted?

Didn't he want the _real_ Batman?

* * *

"Come home?"

Dick mouthed the words. They were so familiar, like, like he had heard them somewhere before-

Oh.

It was what he had said to Jason, in that alleyway an eternity ago.

 _I want you to come home._

Funny how the tables turn.

"Dami..." he was speechless. He'd never heard Damian sound more like a child than just then, stripping his soul bare and preparing for a hit. That was what honesty was- leaving yourself exposed.

"Grayson, I do not have all day."

Damian's lip betrayed his cold exterior. He was biting on it, a habit presumably gotten from Bruce. (Or maybe Dick. He did it too.)

"I... I just... home is a relative term," he said slowly. "Bludhaven's my home now."

"Right. That's why you're _here_ , in Gotham, right now."

It was Damian's turn to be knowing. Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't escape this one.

"I didn't think you wanted me back there," he whispered.

Damian cocked his head. "Honestly," he scoffed, "you are as big of an imbecile as Todd. You both cannot see past your own little spats."

"Jason? You talked to him?"

"Yes. He immobilised me."

Dick laughed. He forgot how much Damian could make him laugh. It was just the way he said things, brutally honest, that sent him over the edge.

It was Dick's opinion that everyone should have a Damian in their life. And that they shouldn't lose that Damian like he had.

The former Batman grinned. "What were you talking about?"

"...You," Robin said, rather embarrassedly. "He told me... that if I needed you to come home, I should just tell you."

Dick reached a hand over and ruffled his hair fondly. A tinge of sadness coated his voice. "You need Bruce, not me," he said softly. "I was just... well... an intermediary. A meanwhile."

"You were more than that to me," Damian said in a brittle tone. Then, softer, "...I wasn't just a meanwhile, was I?"

Dick's heartstrings pulled painfully. "You were never that. No. You are _everything_ to me, Dami. Never convince yourself otherwise."

"I'm not enough to make you stay, though."

Dick looked him full in the face. Silence passed for a while as he thought of what to say. How could he make him understand?

"...Just because people leave you, it doesn't mean they don't love you."

Damian peered up at him hopefully. "Does that mean you wish to come back? Pennyworth can have your room ready in-"

"Whoa, whoa. It's not that simple." Dick smiled slightly. "I can't... go back there."

"But-"

"Wait, hear me out. I can't go back there, but that doesn't stop me from seeing you. You can swing by here anytime."

"Really?"

Dick winced at the disbelief in his voice. "Really. And we can even go on patrol together, if you want."

Damian's weird code of chivalry prevented him from showing his happiness, but Dick could see it in his eyes. They had always been able to read each other like that. (Could Bruce read him like that? Had they ever been this close?)

"Hey, Dami?"

Damian snuggled into his side. "Yes, Grayson?"

Dick closed his eyes. Right then, in that little moment, he was okay.

Yes. He was okay.

"Thanks for bringing me home."

* * *

 **Okay, that was hard! I'm sorry this took so long. Stuff has been happening, lots of events, the usual. Sorry if this chapter feels kinda rushed, it was because I just couldn't leave you guys hanging! Well, with Christmas coming up, chapters should be coming more frequently, so keep your fingers crossed! As usual, review, like, or follow me (only if you liked it of course.) In case I don't update before Christmas, happy holidays!**


	11. I'm Inside Out

Tim had always known he was the odd one out.

When your brothers included an acrobat, an assassin, and- well, God knew what Jason was- it was pretty hard to stick out.

But Tim stuck out because he was too... _normal._ There was nothing special about him, no drive of death to have pushed him into being Robin. He hadn't been chosen for this life, like Dick and Jason. And Damian? This was basically his birthright.

He had simply wanted to make the world a better place. Was that so wrong?

He'd thought that, at least, he'd had a place in the family.

And then he'd been replaced. And then he understood every dirty look, every curse Jason had ever thrown at him.

He hated that. He didn't want to hate his own Replacement. But, well, Damian was a symbol that he wasn't wanted. Worse, that he was even needed. (Which one was worse, anyway?)

So maybe he had lashed out, overreacted. And maybe the little prince's attitude hadn't helped keeping cool. And maybe they really did hate each other, and that was just the end of the story.

But if the last few weeks had been anything to go by, miracles did happen.

And they were always worth it.

* * *

It was surprisingly cold for the middle of June. The night wind blew past Red Robin's face, leaving a slight tickling feeling. He had spent the day training with Red Hood- which was surprising, he knew. But ever since their little talk a few weeks before, Tim had felt the wall of knives between them start to crumble. It wasn't enough to erase everything- no, there was too much blood, too much pain, too much of... too much of the _Pit_ to ever get rid of. But it was a start. And, just then, that was enough.

He was about to announce it a clear night when he noticed a tiny silhouette on the roof opposite to him. It was a small shadow, completely still, sitting on the roof's edge.

Overtaken with curiosity, he silently made his way to the other rooftop. As the shadow came into view, he noticed the flaming yellow of a cape, covered by blackness.

He noticed a small sound. Crying. The person- the child- was crying.

"Robin?"

The word tumbled out of Tim's mouth. Softly, he made his way behind Robin. Damian quickly turned around.

"Red Robin," he snarled, but the spite was not all there. Tim noticed the tear streaks coating his face.

"What's wrong?" He blurted out. What was he supposed to say to someone he'd never really talked to?

Robin folded his arms protectively over his chest. "None of your business."

Tim sighed. He knew he couldn't make Robin open up to him, so he sat down beside him. He dangled his feet off the edge.

"Okay. You don't have to talk to me," he admitted. There was an awkward silence for a while. Tim looked at Robin. When was the last time they had seen each other?

"Where's Batman?" He asked, for lack of a better conversation starter.

Damian immediately stiffened. Oh. Of course. Robin had Batman issues.

"Damian?" He asked, tentatively using his real name. "What happened?" He asked again.

Damian shook his head. "I do not need to share that information with you," he snapped.

"Uh-huh." A pause. "Does he know you're out here?"

The younger boy looked away, which Tim took as a 'no'. Tim frowned. "I'm gonna have to tell him you're-"

"No!" Damian frantically yelled. "He, um... I was forbidden to patrol, today."

"...You were benched?"

"If that is the only way your mind will comprehend it, then yes, I was benched."

Tim bit his lip. "Then you really shouldn't be out here, should you?"

"Don't take that tone with me," Damian growled.

Tim cocked his head. Sure, being benched was pretty bad. But they'd all experienced that more than once. That wasn't why Damian was here, all alone, crying. Maybe, maybe it was just Batman setting high standards again. Standards that Robins would always fail to reach.

(People aren't perfect, Bruce. _Robins_ aren't perfect. Just stop throwing them away when you find that out, will you?)

"Damian. What really happened?"

"Nothing, just-"

"Damian-"

"What happened?!" Damian exploded, standing up. "What happened was that I wasn't good enough to replace you! What happened was that Batman only wants someone like you, not someone... like... _me._ "

* * *

When Tim had been replaced, he had been angry.

Well, of course he ad been angry. That was expected, right? They'd all felt angry, even Dick. So he could be excused for that. But.. but he'd also been kind of... excited.

He'd never had a younger brother before.

And, yeah, maybe that hadn't worked out so well. Maybe he hadn't been ready to let go of Robin, and his own personal space in the family.

Maybe he hadn't been ready to let go of Batman, too. And his death didn't make it any easier.

He clung on so badly, that he forgot how to move forward.

But... but now, maybe he was ready. To finally let go of Robin. To let it pass on, like it was always meant to.

And yes, that was a lot of maybes, a lot of indefinites. But sometimes maybes were all he needed.

Besides- maybe he'd still have a chance to be an older brother after all.

* * *

"...That's not true."

Damian scowled. "How would you know, Drake? You don't know what it feels like, to be unwanted! Everyone always wants _you_. You're the one who's _good._ "

Tim blinked. "I... I'm the one that's wanted? Dick chose _you_ over me!"

"He chose me as a sidekick! Because I needed the most work! But it didn't work, because I'm still a monster, after... everything..." Damian sat back down, cheeks red. Tim frowned with worry.

"...What do you mean?"

Damian pressed his hands to his face. "I made a mistake on my last patrol. The criminal... he was hurting a child, he was a murderer, I couldn't- how could I let that go? I went against Batman's orders, and I... I was going to..."

Kill him. He was going to kill him.

"Damian, that wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was." He turned his face away. "Father thinks I'm a monster."

Tim's eyes widened. "What? No, don't say that. It's not true."

Damian stared Tim in the face. "You... you think I'm a monster. I'm a demon."

Tim's mouth went dry. That was just a name, wasn't it? A name, like, like... like Replacement. Tim couldn't lie that names didn't hurt.

"You're not a monster," Tim said firmly. "They... they don't exist, anyway."

Robin stared at him with confusion. "But... but we fight monsters almost every night," he said.

"Not real monsters. Real monsters are purely evil. I don't think anything is purely evil."

"You haven't seen the things I have, Drake."

"Probably. But lots of people haven't seen what I've seen, either."

Tim scooted closer to Damian, until they were shoulder to shoulder. It was strange being so close to him, but it was warm.

"Most people think Gotham City is a monster," he said, looking over the darkness that spread over the city. "But monsters can't be loved, and I love Gotham, and a lot of its people."

"Like who?"

Damian's voice was so soft, Tim nearly missed it. But he didn't.

"Like... like the man that lives over there," he said, pointing to Dick's apartment. "And over there," he said, pointing over to the other side of Gotham, where Jason lived.

And then he pointed right over to the horizon, where there stood a mansion, looming above the city.

"And... over there," he said quietly. Wayne Manor looked huge no matter how far away they were, Tim thought. He stopped pointing and looked into the darkness below.

"You wouldn't have killed him," Tim stated.

"Are you sure?" Damian asked, voice slightly quivering.

"Confident." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I trust you."

Robin looked over at Tim as if trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. To be honest, Tim didn't know whether it was true or not either. But it was true just then, and that was all that mattered.

Red Robin stood up, brushing off dust with his gloves. He stretched his sore limbs.

"I'd better get you back home," he said. "Batman will probably worry if you're out here alone."

"...What if I'm not alone?"

A flash of confusion passed Tim's face, then one of shock.

"Are you-"

"I simply do not want to return home just yet," Damian scowled.

Tim simply smiled and sat down again next to him.

Maybe one miracle wasn't enough to erase everything- no, there was too much tim, too much hate to get rid of. But it was a start.

And, just then, that was enough.

* * *

 **Yep, I'm back! Just came from a one week vacation, so I haven't been able to update. Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter!**


	12. You're Underneath

"Psst."

Within the darkness of his dreams, Jason rolled over in his sleep. Hanging in the air were guns and knives, but they were still, and no threat to him. Jason didn't mind them- these were one of his better dreams. No blood or death in sight. And, best of all, no company. Just him. Alone.

That's what he'd always wanted, right?

"Psst. Jason."

A voice penetrated the silence. It was familiar- familiarly annoying. But Jason didn't want to wake up, because he really didn't want to know what awaited him when he opened his eyes.

Well. Nothing could be worse than coffin wood, at least.

"Jason!"

Jason cracked his eyes open, just very slightly. Wide blue eyes greeted him, sparkling with excitement. He groaned.

"Why is it always you?" he mumbled sleepily.

"It's not," the intruder said. "This time, I brought company."

That statement made Jason sit straight up. The sight that greeted him made him slightly dizzy- Tim, Dick, and Damian all standing there, looking at him. All in their civilian clothes.

"What the-"

"Language," Dick interrupted firmly.

Jason blew his white strip of hair off his face. "What are you all doing in my _house?!_ "

Damian scoffed. "This is not much of a house, Todd. Though I suppose it suits your... primitive taste."

Tim shifted uncomfortably. He seemed to not be sure what he was doing there, either. That, or he was waiting for Jason to shoot.

Jason wasn't sure he had the strength to anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, tone more exasperated than angry.

Tim looked down at the floor. "Dick thought it'd be a good idea to have some brother bonding time all together. He just... dragged all of us here. I hope you don't mind."

Guilt swelled up in him when he saw the way Tim avoided his gaze. Sure, they had worked things out a bit- but there was too much history, too much hate for Jason to let go of.

He hadn't meant to make Tim so... scared. Was he really that much of a monster?

"'Brother bonding time'? Wow, Dick, you really haven't let go of that yet."

"Yep! And we're doing movie night!" Dick exclaimed happily. "We're all going to the store. Come with?"

Jason closed his eyes. "Only to make sure you don't pick a Barbie movie or something," he growled.

"Great! Then let's gooooo!"

Jason shook his head as Dick dragged their two younger brothers away.

This day got off to a good start.

* * *

It had taken a while to get to the store, because- Jason should have really known way beforehand- it turns out that the Batfamily were incapable of getting into a car peacefully.

"I call shotgun!" were the last words Jason said before Damian started to rip him to shreds. Dick had had to intervene, and by that time Tim had crawled into the front seat. Then, Dick just had to have a car with one of the backseat windows unable to open- so, once again, Damian pounced on Jason with the ferocity of those cats he liked so much.

In the end, with a total number of 15 fresh scars, Red Hood had been delegated the worst seat. Go figure.

So by the time they reached the store, Jason was exhausted. Dick- being his typical mother hen self- looked him over with a worried glance.

"You okay?" he asked.

Jason scowled. "Next time, I'm bringing handcuffs."

"You know those won't be enough to stop him, right?"

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's just go already before Replacement dies at the hands of Demon Brat."

They entered the store, and air conditioning slapped Jason in the face. Rows upon rows of CDs and DVDs sat in shelves, stretching out for what seemed like miles. Dick herded them all together at the entrance.

"Okay," he said, as if they were going on an expedition, "we'll be watching two movies, so we'll split up. Each of you will have a partner, and I expect you to stay together. We'll have a major problem if one of us gets lost."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Not all of us are as incompetent as Drake," he said.

Tim glared daggers at Damian, but said nothing. He knew too well that responding would only cause another of their little wars. Dick clucked his tongue.

"Dami, play nice," he reprimanded. "Now, we are not allowed to buy R-rated ones- no, Jason, no horror ones either- so family-friendly movies, okay?"

"Okay," Tim responded, when both Damian and Jason frowned in disappointment.

"Cool! So, Dami and I will go together, and Jay and Timmy will pair up, too."

"You better hold Todd's hand, Drake," Damian sneered.

Tim let out a slight sigh. "Can we buy some duct tape and shut him up, please?" he asked at Dick pointedly.

"Come on, guys, this is our family night!" he said brightly. "Now, go find your disks, 'cause I'm giving us an hour to find something. We'll meet up back here after the hour's over." Dick grabbed Damian and skipped off into one section of the store.

Jason stuffed his hands in his pockets. "C'mon, Replacement," he said finally, "might as well get this over with."

They wandered the store for a bit, Jason sometimes wandering to the adult section before Tim tugged him firmly back. They ended up in the Disney shelf, looking at the rows of movies, mostly animated.

"...So..." Tim said, rather awkwardly.

Things had always been loud between them, what with Jason always shooting at him and cursing and just causing a ruckus. But without the anger, there was no noise. Only a silence that said fear as much as it said peace.

"Are we allowed to get a zombie Disney movie?"

Tim blinked in surprise. "...Um, I don't think those exist."

"What? Really?" Jason frowned. "Well, screw Disney then. I don't feel like I'm represented enough these days."

Tim laughed, and suddenly, it was like the silence gave way to something... else. Jason bit the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling- no way would he let Replacement see him looking happy for once. He had an image to keep, after all.

"How about this?" Tim asked, picking up a movie from the lower shelf. "It might not be a zombie, but it has a singing skeleton. Plus, it's about Christmas. Dick would approve this in a heartbeat."

Jason looked it over and scrunched his nose. "It has songs in it. I'm pretty sure Dickiebird will be singing along, and I really don't want to live through that again."

Tim giggled. "He took me to karaoke once. Trust me, you do not want to know what happened."

Jason huffed and checked his watch. "Wow, we wasted a lot of time. Might as well get this one and endure the torture," he commented.

They walked back to their rendezvous point, Tim mostly taking up the chatter with small talk. Jason briefly wondered whether, if he hadn't died, this would've been the relationship he'd had with Tim. But if he hadn't died Tim wouldn't have been needed at all- and Jason wasn't sure how much he wanted that anymore.

"Guys!"

Dick waved brightly to them, holding Damian's hand. The little brat didn't seem to happy about it, but his twitching mouth gave it away.

"We got a disk," Tim replied, holding out the movie they had chosen.

Dick grinned when he saw it. "Great choice! Me and little D also got one," he said.

"It was mostly Grayson's choice," Damian defended.

Jason took a look at the movie and almost barfed. "...There are rainbows on the cover of this."

"Yep!"

Jason groaned, his grouchiness not helped when Tim gave a laugh. In retaliation he punched Tim in the arm, though not as hard as he used to, because before it was always a pummelling. He didn't miss the faint smile that flickered on Dick's lips.

"Alright, c'mon, we gotta pay for this."

They walked over to the counter, Dick flashing a grin and taking out Bruce's credit card.

Okay, so being rich did have some advantages. Though, when Jason had been still alive, he hadn't marvelled at being rich. He'd marvelled at Bruce and Dick and how they actually seemed to love him.

He'd taken more than just the money for granted.

* * *

They'd decided to bunk in Tim's house for the movie-watching, seeing as Dick's apartment was a mess and Jason's was a poor excuse for a house. Tim's flat was small but well furnished, and Jason delighted in pulling out books on his bookshelves and putting them back in the wrong place. The look of agitation on Tim's face was funny, and the best part was, he didn't have to pull out a gun for it.

Dick had busied himself in the kitchen making the popcorn, which might've been a bad idea. Tim and Jason and Damian together was sort of an explosion.

"Tt. Drake, your house is tiny."

"Too small for a little princeling like you?"

"I never said I was-"

Jason coughed, and both his little brothers looked at him. (His little brothers- since when had he thought that?)

"Look, I'm not usually the mediator for this thing, but if you guys fight than Golden Boy'll lecture me and I don't want to live through that. So, Demon Spawn, if this place really is too small for all four of us, we're just gonna have kick you out."

Damian spluttered, face growing red. "You're just like Grayson sometimes," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm back!" Dick greeted with two bowlfuls of popcorn. "Glad to see you got along without me."

He clearly knew what happened, as when they were sitting down, he winked at Jason. Jason glared in return.

"Drake, I'm sitting on the right side."

"What? I'm already here! Just sit over there!"

"I demand you move-"

"No-"

"Move!" Dick's voice sounded.

He jumped in between them, making the sofa groan under his butt. Hooking one arm around each of the younger Robins, he gestured to Jason. Reluctantly, Jason chose to sit next to the Replacement. Demon Brat would probably rip out his innards if he sat next to him.

"Okay," Dick announced cheerfully, "Jay, put in the disk."

"What? You put in the disk!"

"Dami-"

"No."

"Timmy? Please?"

Tim shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry Dick. I'm kinda squished here."

"Oh, I see how it is. Always bossing around your older brother around," he pouted.

But his eyes gave away just how much he had always wanted this, Jason thought.

And Jason wondered, to himself... How much had Jason wanted this?

For how long?

By the time the second movie ended, both Damian and Tim had fallen asleep. Damian had slept with his head on Dick's lap, the rest of his small body spread out across the sofa. Tim hadn't taken up so much space, instead curling into Jason's body.

It felt nice, somehow. Warm. And for some reason it felt like he'd been cold ever since he'd died, like the Pit had laced ice into his bloodstream.

Well, take that, _Pit._ Tonight, Jason was warm.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Jason felt his head bob, almost going off to sleep, until he heard Dick sigh.

"Why can't it be like this forever?" Dick wondered aloud. Jason couldn't tell whether he was talking to himself or to him.

The second Robin closed his eyes. "Forever doesn't exist," he said.

The words used to taste like victory. A piece of evidence that, no matter how screwed up things got, it didn't matter because for God's sakes he could always just die again.

But not like this. Not when things felt so nice, so good, so warm. Now, all he tasted was bitter. Because those words meant that things could never, would never stay this way.

And maybe Jason didn't deserve this. Maybe, maybe he had screwed too many times for death to take him.

But Dick did. Dick deserved his family, and- no matter how much he denied it- Jason was his family. (Forever.)

"I know," Dick said sadly. "I know, but I wish it did."

"Just... why don't you take a picture?"

"What?"

Jason blushed slightly. "Pictures... pictures last forever. Memories don't. But pictures do."

Dick laughed. "As long as you don't lose them, or burn them, or..."

Jason scowled. "Yeah yeah, I get it. I was just trying to be helpful."

Buried in his chest, Tim stirred a bit. Jason held extremely still, not sure what to do. He'd never... done this with someone before. At least Golden Boy had practice.

"Relax, Jaybird," Dick called from the other side of the couch. "He's not going to kill you."

"I know," he growled. But he relaxed anyway.

Shuffling, Dick got out his phone. "Hey," he said teasingly, "say cheese!"

Jason groaned and buried his face into Tim's hair. The photo was taken with a soundless click.

"You shouldn't take photos without people's permission," he scolded.

Dick waved his hand. "Relax. I'll send all of them a copy, and print one for myself." He looked at the picture fondly. "This is definitely bedroom-wall material."

"If you send one to me, I'll delete it."

"Well then, I'll just send it to you again."

"You really are as stubborn as a mule, aren't you?"

Jason looked over at Dick. His bright blue eyes shone with mirth, something he hadn't seen since Jason had been Robin, and there were days spent tumbling down banisters and in snow. He'd missed those days, as much as he had missed the people in it.

Including himself. He missed the old Jason, the one who laughed when he felt like it and was too proud to cry and was just realising that there were people in the world who loved him.

Just a little bit of that Jason remained in him, the little bit that convinced him to hang out with his brothers at all. But that small part of him had a loud voice that couldn't be ignored.

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

Jason stared straight ahead, not willing to see Dick's reaction to his words.

"I miss you," he said, the words Dick had said to him all those nights ago. And yes, he had replied then. But those words were different now, older, more sincere. Jason hoped Dick knew he didn't just mean he missed him- he meant that he wished he could have a second chance. To be the brother Dick always wanted him to be.

"Jason...I miss you too," Dick replied. And Jason knew that Dick had just said, in his own way, yes.

And Jason let out a sigh.

"I wouldn't mind if we stayed like this. Forever."

* * *

 **And, voila! The last chapter is complete! Well, not really. There's still one chapter to go, but I count it more as an epilogue than a real chapter. And there you have it! We end (still not really the end but whatever) with Dick and Jason, just as we started it. I hope to see you all soon for the next and final instalment! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Happy new year everyone!**


	13. Don't Let Me Be Gone

Bruce knew he'd made mistakes, but his boys had never been one of them.

Not any one of them he'd regretted, not even through the pain, the scars, the bullet wounds.

They were _his_ sons. There were _his_ boys. And they were _his_ responsibility.

And he'd screwed up with each and every one of them.

"Master Wayne," Alfred greeted as Bruce crossed the premises of his own house.

"Alfred. Damian?"

Alfred gave him a cold look. "He is asleep in his bedroom. He requested your presence, earlier. You weren't available."

Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Ever since that little mishap with the mugger that got Damian benched, they hadn't had a chance to talk. Well, maybe that was more like Bruce hadn't wanted to talk. He knew he'd never find the right words to say- he just didn't want to lose Damian too.

He ascended the staircase slowly, one step at a time. The banisters were precisely polished, as usual, thanks to Alfred's care. He remembered all the little boys who used to slide down it- all of them had done it at one point, even Damian, according to Dick. (A lot of things he knew about Damian were according to Dick. They had been very close, and he was jealous. Of Dick or Damian he wasn't sure.)

The door to Damian's bedroom stood slightly ajar. Sneaking in softly, he looked around. Everything was neat and precise except for the bed. Damian lay sleeping, blankets strewn around in a sort of fit. Bruce frowned- had Damian had a nightmare? He reached out his hand to brush aside his hair, and Damian mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye Bruce noticed a piece of paper caught in his hands.

Strange, Bruce thought. It seemed to be a picture.

Gently, so as to not awaken the sleeping Robin, he unfurled Damian's hand and took the photo. He smoothed it out with his thumbs and nearly choked.

It was a picture of all four of them- all four of his boys- sitting on a couch, Damian and Tim asleep, Dick the one holding the camera, grinning wildly. And Jason- Bruce would recognise him anywhere- with his face buried in Tim's hair. It must've been recent. A recent moment that Bruce had not been a part of.

It was funny how Bruce had missed out on more things when he was alive than dead.

He looked over at Damian again. Damian, the youngest, yet he'd never let you say that. He was all knives and scowls, but Bruce knew that beneath that, he was Damian Wayne. His son. He had his own way of showing he loved people- like Bruce- but the youngest Robin did love his family, even Tim. As his Father, Bruce had failed him. Just being this close was strange. Not uncomfortable, it should't be uncomfortable, but it shouldn't be strange either. He should touch Damian, hug him, but it was like the contact would burn a hole into his heart, too big for him to recover. He just couldn't... let Damian in. No matter how much he wanted to.

It would 'endanger the mission'. As usual.

To be honest, Bruce wasn't sure what the mission was anymore. All he knew was that it really wasn't worth it.

Bruce's thumb moved over to Tim. He looked small in the picture, curled up protectively against Jason. Trying to shield himself from the world that had been so cruel to him. Tim, the quiet one, the one who cleaned up the messes. The one that Bruce never really got a chance- no, the one that Bruce never really thought to thank. For believing in Bruce when nobody else had. He'd been grieving over Jason for most of Tim's tenure, and maybe that was why he'd never gotten around to treating Tim as more than a partner.

Because he was; because all of them were. And maybe he wasn't the one who replaced Tim this time, but did it really matter? He was never there for him anyway. And maybe just one thank you, just one you-were-right (and I was wrong) would have convinced Tim to stay.

But he hadn't said anything. And Tim hadn't stayed.

The twist in his gut coiled painfully as his eyes moved to Jason. Bruce couldn't even see his face- but he remembered it, as clear as day. Reckless. Fierce. Lonely. And then, dead.

Had... had Bruce ever seen Jason again, without his hood and mask? The picture of the little boy he had once known and the Red Hood he fought now mangled together, creating a face he didn't recognise at all.

He had tried so hard... and had been too late. It was always too late with Jason, but he wished it could have been otherwise. He looked at the picture again. Silently, he wished picture-Jason would look up, and that his face would be the little rebellious Robin that Bruce hadn't known what to do with. And that Bruce'd open his mouth and say, like he'd imagined doing thousands of times, "I'm sorry."

But that wouldn't be enough. It never was.

And finally, Bruce stroked the last person in the picture. The only one who was smiling, looking at the camera. He'd smile through just about anything- Bruce was proud of that. But goodness knows Dick didn't get it from Batman. He'd always be grateful to Dick, for being the one to prove that Bruce could be more than 'Brucie', or Batman. That he had a heart somewhere in him (a heart that could bleed and hurt and kill). And Dick, in a way, would always be grateful to Bruce. For allowing him to become Robin. For giving him justice.

And yet, for all that they were grateful to each other, Batman had still driven Robin away.

He'd thought that if Dick was far away, the villains couldn't hurt him. But he'd ended up hurting Dick more than any villain ever had.

Was it fair to either of them? No. But apologies and confessions just didn't fit Bruce's firm, hard-lined mouth.

And there, in those five minutes, he had gone through more than a decade of sorrow, pain and hurt. And yet...

They were there. In that picture. Alive and breathing and well. And, for Bruce, that was all he'd ever wanted.

Maybe they were happier without him. He'd never know.

But Bruce knew he had made mistakes, a lot of them. From the Joker to Two-face to Gotham City.

But his boys were not, would never be, one of them. Losing them was a mistake. Having them was the only thing he could say, with certainty, that he had done right.

Because no matter the distance that divided them, they were his sons.

And he couldn't be any prouder of them.

* * *

 **And there we have it, folks! The official end of my saga of tales. I'd like to thank all the people who reviewed, liked, or followed this story. Thanks to your support I actually finished a multi-chapter story! I really enjoyed writing this, and I hoped you enjoyed reading it too. We ended with a little of DaddyBats- cause who doesn't like that? Anyway, to all you readers out there, thank you again and goodnight! (Metaphorically. Where I am it's 2 in the afternoon.)**

 **And now, I can confidently say,**

 **The End.**


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